Bésame Mucho
by George deValier
Summary: WW2 AU. Lovino Vargas only ever wanted something exciting to happen in his boring, everyday Italian village existence. He never expected war, Resistance, love, passion, treason, or a cheerful, confusing, irritatingly attractive Spanish freedom fighter.
1. Chapter 1

_Pairing: Antonio Carriedo/ Lovino Vargas (Spain/Romano)_

_Summary: WW2 AU. Lovino Vargas only ever wanted something exciting to happen in his boring, everyday Italian village existence. He never expected war, Resistance, love, passion, treason, or a cheerful, confusing, irritatingly attractive Spanish freedom fighter._

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><p><em>This story is part of an ongoing WW2 AU of mine, called the Veraverse. This particular fic is a companion story to the GermanyItaly fic 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart.' I will try to keep it separate enough that you can understand it without reading 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart,' but it might make a little more sense if you do._

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><p><em>YouTube watch?v=c9V64EPA4NU_

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><p><em>Spring, 1939<br>__A village in Italy_

_._

"Lovino!"

Lovino did not turn at the sound of Feliciano running behind and shouting his name. He kept his eyes on the narrow dirt road, his fists clenched and his teeth gritted in irritation. The sun shone brightly overhead and a warm breeze drifted past, carrying the light, subtle scents of spring. Lovino barely noticed. His mind was still running through the events of the morning in the market. Every day, he heard the same things. '_Little Feliciano, I have the very best for you today!'… 'Oh, you didn't tell me you had such a cute brother, Lovino!'… 'Extra tomatoes? For you, Feliciano, absolutely!' _Lovino was used to feeling invisible around his little brother. But sometimes it became a bit too much. Sometimes, Lovino wished that something would happen around here: something important, something where he could make a difference rather than living in the shadow of his always cute, always sweet, always _noticeable_ little brother.

"Lovino, wait for me! Lovi… ARGH!"

Lovino spun around at the shriek to find Feliciano sprawled face first on the road. Lovino's stomach fell a little as he ran back and knelt swiftly beside his brother. "Feli, are you all right?"

Feliciano slowly pushed himself to his knees, brushed himself off, and smiled brightly. "You shouldn't walk so fast, Lovino, my legs aren't as long as yours and I can't keep up, and I don't think you always hear me when I call out and then accidents like this happen, but it's okay because I don't think I'm hurt only look, I did scrape my knee, do you think I need to see the doctor?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, holding out a hand to help Feliciano to his feet. "Don't be silly, you'll be fine." Why was he never able to stay upset with his little brother for long? "I'm sorry I was walking so fast." Once on his feet, Feliciano continued to cling to Lovino, swinging their hands between them as they continued down the road. Lovino shook his head in exasperation. Anyone would think his fourteen year old brother was actually a little child. No wonder the villagers at the market always thought he was so damn 'cute.' Lovino was barely a year older and yet he felt like the adult; the sensible, responsible one. But he let Feliciano hold his hand as they walked down the country road, eventually turning onto the narrow lane that lead to their small farmhouse.

"We're home, Grandpa!" Feliciano cried cheerfully as they walked through the front door.

"Welcome home, boys!" Grandpa Roma stood from his chair at the front table. Lovino went still when he noticed the man sitting opposite. Dark haired, shabbily dressed, with an olive complexion and wide, sparkling eyes. The young man flashed them a bright cheerful smile; Lovino eyed him warily.

"Who the hell are you?'

Roma glared at Lovino. "Watch your manners, young man." Lovino folded his arms and glanced sullenly at the ceiling. "This is a friend of mine. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Feliciano looked completely confused. "Antonio... Fernando…"

"You might have to write that one down," said Lovino.

"Call me Antonio." The man stood. Lovino took a step backwards.

Roma smiled proudly as he took a step closer to his grandsons. "Antonio, this is Lovino, my oldest, and little Feliciano."

Antonio held out his hand to Feliciano, who took it in a careful handshake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Feliciano!" Antonio's Italian was slightly accented.

"Hello! You speak funny."

Antonio laughed. "I am sorry about the accent. I am from Spain, and not used to speaking Italian."

Feliciano looked astonished. "Spain? Wow! Do you fight bulls? All Spanish people fight bulls. I read it once in a book, and there were pictures, but it made me very sad, because they were getting stabbed and it was all horrible and I ended up crying because it's just so terribly mean and wrong and... and… and it was so awful…" Feliciano blinked rapidly and sniffed. "Grandpa, I don't think I like your new friend." Lovino kicked Feliciano's foot.

Antonio laughed again. It was so wild and joyful. For some strange reason, Lovino felt his heart leap at the sound. "Feliciano, not all Spanish people fight bulls. I swear to you, I've never hurt a bull in my life."

Feliciano broke into a wide, relieved smile. "Oh, good. Well that's all right then, and I'm very sorry I said I don't like you, and I'm sure you're actually very nice."

Antonio laughed and Roma shrugged dotingly. Lovino tapped his foot and rolled his eyes. Here we go again. Someone else falling all over cute little Feliciano.

"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing," said Antonio. Feliciano tilted his head and flashed a blinding smile. Lovino looked away briefly in frustration, and when he glanced back, he found Antonio extending his hand to him. Lovino's eyes went wide, his brain froze, and he clasped his hands behind his back. Antonio dropped his hand immediately and just smiled. "And I am pleased to meet you, Lovino."

Lovino told himself to say something. Anything. To open his mouth. Now, damn it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Grandpa Roma cuffed him over the head. "Don't be rude, Lovino. Antonio is here on a business meeting."

Lovino stared at the ground, burning with embarrassment. "Business? About the farm?" He tried to rub his head discreetly.

"Something like that. Boys, go and start dinner while we finish talking. We don't want to bore you!"

"Can we have pasta?" asked Feliciano eagerly.

"That sounds like a brilliant idea!" said Roma, smiling indulgently. Feliciano skipped happily into the next room but Lovino stayed where he was for a moment, glancing warily between Roma and Antonio. He did not know what this meeting was about, but he was willing to bet it had nothing to do with any 'business.' He was also willing to bet Grandpa Roma would not tell him anything about it. As much as Lovino felt like an adult compared to Feliciano, Grandpa Roma never treated him as anything but a child.

"Is something wrong, Lovino?" asked Roma. His tone was pleasant, but his eyes held a warning.

"No," said Lovino softly. "I'll go help Feliciano." He left the room without a backwards glance. As soon as he shut the kitchen door, however, he quickly grabbed a wine glass, held the rim against the door, and placed his ear to the stem. Feliciano looked up from where he was starting to boil water on the stove.

"I don't think you're supposed to be doing that, Lovino."

"Shut up," snapped Lovino, before adding quickly, "…and don't tell Grandpa."

Lovino could not hear much of the conversation, especially with Feliciano banging the pots and plates behind him. But a few phrases and sentences filtered through the amplifying chamber of the glass: something about an Italian alliance with Germany, about a fascist occupation of Czechoslovakia, about rumours of war, about a place called Guernica. Lovino was captivated. He had heard rumours around the village lately, but nothing like this. Nothing that sounded this serious… this important. Lovino listened to Antonio's lilting Spanish accent with a growing fascination, until he was no longer sure if it was what Antonio was saying that held him enthralled or the deep, intense, yet somehow still cheerful way the man spoke the words. Grandpa Roma's voice suddenly rose in volume and Lovino heard the words perfectly through the door.

"Tell me why do you did not just become a soldier, Antonio. Could you not accomplish something important using your skills in the military?"

"Sometimes soldiers do great things. And I, of all people, respect the desire to do duty for your country. But I have seen what the military can do. I have seen the consequences of blindly following orders. Soldiers kill innocent people, Roma. And I would die before I do that."

Lovino's pulse pounded between his ear and the glass. He felt slightly out of breath. Every word Antonio said was spoken with an edge of passion - it was like nothing Lovino had ever heard.

"I think I can trust you, Spaniard." Roma sounded satisfied.

"Lovino, do you think I need to add more…"

Lovino waved a hand at Feliciano frantically. "Ssh, shut up!"

"And I you, Roma. I will give you any and all information I am able to acquire. Let us hope, however, that this German incursion is stopped before it gets too far."

Lovino tried to breathe through the dozens of emotions flowing through him. He could not be sure of exactly what his grandfather and Antonio had been talking about, but it sounded like exactly what he had hoped for. Something different, something new, something that might finally change this stale, everyday existence where nothing ever happened and where he felt invisible and ignored. Hearing Roma and Antonio begin their goodbyes, Lovino pulled the wine glass from the door and, almost unthinkingly, opened the door a fraction to peek through. Grandpa Roma had his back to the kitchen, rifling through a pile of papers on the table. Antonio, however, stood facing Lovino, and their eyes met immediately. Lovino froze when Antonio smiled at him broadly, his light eyes sparkling. Then he winked. Lovino's eyes widened. He abruptly slammed the door shut and leant against it, his heart beating fast in his chest. His breathing came so fast he was nearly panting.

Feliciano looked up over the boiling pot and smiled. True to form, he did not seem to have noticed anything unusual. "Grandpa's new friend is really nice, don't you think?"

"No," said Lovino, frantically trying to convince himself that his pounding heart and burning cheeks were a result of the conversation he had overheard, and not that stunning smile and startling wink. "No, I don't think so at all. Oh honestly, Feliciano, you've cooked far too much pasta once again…" Lovino went to help Feliciano with the dinner, and tried to forget Antonio's brilliant green eyes.

.

Lovino slowly grew used to Antonio's visits over the next few weeks. To listening through doors for some idea of what was going on, to that frustrating little jump he felt in his chest whenever he heard that Antonio was visiting, to that swelling feeling of excitement he felt every time he overheard Antonio and Roma speak of escalating rumours of war. But at the same time, Lovino never quite grew used to Antonio's constant cheerful smile, to his messy brown hair and bright green eyes, to his ready laugh and joyful presence and the way he always ruffled Feliciano's hair and called him '_cute_.' Lovino told himself he didn't care. He almost believed it. But then Antonio would smile at him, or glance at him in passing, and Lovino would scowl and look away, the whole time feeling unsure and confused and angry that he could not quite understand the reason he was feeling this way.

It all became quite usual and everyday until the morning everything finally struck him in understanding. Lovino sat on the low garden wall, the bright sun beating down relentlessly, thinking through the conversation he had just overheard. Antonio had a way of speaking that made everything sound important, but his words earlier as he spoke with Grandpa Roma had sounded graver than usual.

_"You are still committed to this, Roma? I will do everything I can to help you. But you will be a resistance. You will be fighting against the government of your own country."_

_"A government that does not care for the freedom of its people. Yes, I am committed."_

_"And you know what you will be risking?"_

_"I know all too well what I am risking. But if anything is worth that risk, this is."_

Lovino had left before hearing the end of the conversation, feeling like he needed air. The little garden was dappled with bright sunlight and shadow from the tall trees that surrounded the wall, the air stiflingly hot with the promise of a long summer. Lovino kicked his feet absently and stared unseeing at the rows of rosemary before him. Those words resonated in his head… _"I know all too well what I am risking."_ His mind spun with a hundred thoughts. He had known Grandpa Roma and Antonio were planning something. But now he wondered just what exactly that was, and what it would mean. What would Grandpa be risking… what would he be doing… what exactly was the meaning of all this talk of war and Germany and invasion? Suddenly that familiar feeling of excitement carried an undercurrent of fear.

Lovino looked up at the sound of the back kitchen door opening, only to see Antonio stepping out into the garden. Lovino's heart leapt annoyingly into his throat. He shrank back carefully on the wall, but Antonio did not notice him. Instead he walked swiftly past the bright flowerbeds before leaning against the far wall by the back gate, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked slightly anxious, and quite exhausted. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and was just breathing the smoke deeply when Lovino jumped down and took a few steps in his direction. Antonio looked up sharply, then smiled. "Lovino."

Lovino stared at Antonio cautiously. He was never quite sure how to act around him; it was more confusing than it should be. Lovino folded his arms. "I've overheard you talking with Grandpa, you know."

Antonio looked politely curious. "Oh?"

"There is going to be a war, isn't there?"

Antonio's expression turned slightly uncertain. He took a draw on his cigarette and breathed the smoke out slowly. "Probably."

Lovino nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Well. I guess I'll just have to join the army then."

Antonio laughed softly, staring at Lovino with sparkling eyes. "The army?" He tilted his head slightly. "I just realised I've never asked… how old are you, Lovino?"

Lovino thought about how to answer. He thought briefly about lying. Then he realised it probably did not matter much. "Fifteen," he said huffily.

Antonio's eyebrows shot up and he looked away quickly. "Fifteen," he muttered. He shook his head, took another long draw on his cigarette, and stared at the sky for few moments. "You won't be able to join for a while then. And when you are old enough, do you even know what you will be fighting for?"

Lovino furrowed his eyebrows. What a strange question… "For Italy, of course."

"Hmm." Antonio often thought for a long time before speaking. Lovino wondered if it was because of the difference in language. He refused to admit that it fascinated him. Because it didn't, damn it. Antonio breathed out another lungful of smoke. "Sometimes, joining the army is not the best way to serve your country. Sometimes, to do what is right, you have to stand up and fight for what everyone else thinks is wrong."

Lovino swallowed heavily. Antonio had said something like that earlier_. You will be fighting against the government of your own country..._ "I don't know what you mean."

"You will." Antonio flicked his ash on the ground and stared at it. "War is not exciting, Lovino. I sincerely hope you do not make the mistake of thinking so before you actually see it."

Lovino narrowed his eyes as he studied Antonio, thinking through everything he had overheard in the last few weeks. About civil war in Spain and fascism and that place Antonio kept mentioning, that place called Guernica… "What are you really doing here?"

Antonio thought for a moment again. "I think I am trying to fight for what is right."

"You think?"

"I hope. Unfortunately, I've never been very good at separating right from wrong. I think I've always just felt too much to truly know the difference. But this… yes, I'm sure I'm right in this. I have to be."

Lovino tried unsuccessfully to suppress the swelling in his chest. So he tried angrily to ignore it. "I didn't ask for your life story, bastard."

Antonio looked vaguely amused. "No. Forgive me, Lovino." He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, his eyes still on the ground. A heavy silence fell. Lovino was not sure if he should leave. For some reason he did not dwell on, he did not want to. He fidgeted with his hands behind his back for a moment. Antonio did not continue, so Lovino broke the silence.

"Can I have a cigarette?"

Antonio laughed. "No."

"Screw you, bastard!"

Antonio dropped the cigarette and stood on it. Then he finally looked up, his eyes meeting Lovino's, burning into them. Lovino felt his next angry words die on his lips. The hot stillness of the day seemed to close in on him. He could not move, could not breathe, could not tear his gaze from those brilliant green eyes staring into his. Antonio took a step closer then paused, shook his head, and laughed softly to himself. "Fifteen," he muttered, before turning and walking out the back gate. Lovino watched him go, his heart pounding in his ears, unsure whether to feel relieved.

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Only a few days later, Lovino stood at the kitchen door, listening as Antonio explained to Roma that he was going away for a few months. Lovino was surprised, annoyed and infuriated by how upset and disappointed that made him. This was stupid. He shouldn't care, he didn't care, why the hell would he care…

"Things are moving fast, Roma. Faster than expected. Of course I will be back regularly, but from here it is up to you. You will be the face of this. I will simply be your informant."

Roma laughed raucously. "Sometimes you sound so much older than your years. Do not forget that you are talking to the youngest Italian officer to ever rise past the rank of Captain. I am quite capable of inspiring a group to victory."

Antonio's voice became cheerful and lighthearted once again. "Like any student of the Great War, I am well aware of your military accomplishments. _Maggiore_ Vargas, hero of the Isonzo campaign. Why else do you think I am so eager to work with you?"

"All right, stop with the flattery, kid." But Lovino could hear the delight in Roma's voice. Grandpa always loved when people spoke of his celebrated military history. "You do your job, and I'll do mine."

The rest of the conversation became too soft to hear properly. When the room finally fell silent, Lovino pressed his ear as close to the door as possible. Had they left? Was their meeting over? He tried listening for the sound of footsteps, but heard nothing, until suddenly the door opened inward. Lovino cried out in surprise and fell forward, right into Antonio's steadying arms.

"Hello, Lovino!"

"Bu... wha... get off me, bastard!" Lovino's face burned and he frantically pulled himself upright, pushing Antonio away and backing up until he hit the wall behind him.

"Why do I always find you listening in doorways?" Antonio smiled at Lovino amusedly.

"It's my house," said Lovino indignantly. "And I wasn't listening, I was..." Lovino had no idea what to say. "I was... oh, go away."

Antonio smirked and nodded. "Very well." He started to walk past, but as he did, Lovino felt his hand shoot out and grasp Antonio's shirt. He was sure he hadn't meant to do that. Antonio looked down, almost as surprised as Lovino himself. Lovino's eyes darted nervously.

"You're leaving."

Antonio smirked again. "You weren't listening?"

Lovino glared at him. "It's the only way I ever find things out around here. No one tells me anything otherwise."

"Yes, Lovino, I am leaving for a while. Please don't worry, though. I will return soon enough. I will be returning quite frequently."

"I'm not worried!" Lovino spat indignantly.

"Of course not." Antonio was too close. Lovino tried to ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, tried to ignore the way his breath came faster, because he didn't care, Antonio was not making him feel like this, oh God he smelt so good, NO! "Well," continued Antonio, "I suppose this is it until..."

"Don't waste your goodbyes on me, bastard, go find my _cute_ brother and say farewell to _him_ instead." Lovino immediately winced at his words. Crap, damn it, why did he say that? That hadn't come out as sulkily as it sounded, surely...

Antonio just let out a breath of laughter. "Oh, Lovino." Antonio took a step towards him and Lovino pressed himself even closer to the wall. Then Antonio leant over and rested his hand slowly, lightly, against Lovino's side. Lovino's eyes widened. His heartbeat increased, his palms started to sweat, and the back of his neck burned with a heat that quickly spread through his entire body. Then he felt Antonio's breath hot against his ear. "Feliciano is cute, Lovi. But you are beautiful."

Lovino was stunned. _Beautiful_. Antonio had called him beautiful. Not cute, not adorable, not sweet; something more than any of that. Antonio had said it to him, to him alone; whispered it in his ear when no one else could hear, words meant only for Lovino. This was too much. Lovino could think of only one way to deal with these wild, confusing, unfamiliar feelings racing through him. He squared his shoulders, drew back his fist, and punched Antonio square in the jaw. "You don't call boys beautiful, you creep!"

Lovino turned and stormed from the room, pretending he did not hear Antonio laughing behind him.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Autumn, 1939  
>A village in Italy<em>

_._

"Don't get too far ahead, Feliciano!" called Grandpa Roma. It was a sunny autumn morning, and the village bustled with activity as Lovino and Grandpa Roma walked leisurely along the cobblestone streets. In the last few months, the everyday, unchanging village existence Lovino had lived in his entire life had turned upside down. Already there was not enough produce at the market. People whispered on street corners, dark murmurings and rumours and half broken conversations. Grandpa Roma spent all his time at the old _Cantina Verde_ talking with people instead of in the fields. But today, with the sun shining and the streets crowded, it almost seemed like a normal day in the village once again. It was a nice change. People stopped frequently to say good morning to Roma or to give a cheerful greeting to Feliciano, though Lovino was not surprised that no one spared a moment for him. The three of them were headed to the cantina, and as usual Feliciano kept getting excited over nothing, skipping and running ahead.

"I can't help it that you're walking so slow!" Feliciano called back. "Hurry up, we have to stop at the fountain, Lovino and I always stop at the fountain when we come to town, I even have a coin and I already know what I'm going to wish for and oh, hello Antonio!"

Lovino nearly tripped over. His pulse quickened when he caught sight of Antonio walking through the crowd and waving cheerfully. "Good morning, Feli! Roma." Antonio's smile brightened. "Lovino." Lovino quickly averted his eyes.

Antonio had come and gone frequently from the village in the last months, but these last few days were the longest he had stayed since he had first dropped into their lives back in spring. Lovino had spent the days trying unsuccessfully to ignore both Antonio and the way he made him feel. Although Antonio had not said anything to make Lovino punch him again, he still managed to make Lovino's heart pound uncomfortably and cause an unwanted and embarrassing blush to spread from his neck. Especially when he thought he caught Antonio staring at him… he was never quite sure, however, since the Spaniard always looked away immediately. Antonio was so friendly, so happy, so different to everyone else who always ignored Lovino in favour of his little brother. Even the way Antonio said Lovino's name was different. Lovino was not sure how to understand it – a grown man should not make him feel like this. It was frustrating, and confusing, and just a little scary… but also, secretly, strangely new and exciting.

Roma stopped briefly and shook Antonio's hand affectionately in greeting. "Antonio! Are you just heading to the cantina now? Your rooms are directly opposite, aren't they?"

"They are, but it is such a fine morning I had to take a walk. If you are headed that way now, I'll join you." They continued walking with Antonio beside them; Lovino ignoring him, Feliciano jumping excitedly around him.

"Antonio, will you come to the fountain with us? Lovino and I are going to throw in coins the way Grandpa says they do in Rome and make wishes and…"

"_You're_ going to, Feliciano, I don't do that sort of thing," said Lovino quickly.

Feliciano turned and looked at him strangely. "Yes you do."

Lovino tried to stop his cheeks from burning. "I used to, when I was a kid!"

"But you did it last week, remember, you wished for a guitar like you always… ow! Why did you kick me, Lovino?"

Antonio laughed loudly. "That sounds like fun, Feliciano! I think I'll throw a coin in myself!"

"What will you wish for?" asked Feliciano eagerly.

"Ah, but if you tell anyone what you wish for, it won't come true." Antonio winked at Lovino. Lovino scowled back.

Feliciano's face fell. "Really? But I always tell Lovino what I wish for, and my wishes always come true…"

"That's because you wish for pasta," said Lovino, slightly exasperated. "Every single time you wish for pasta, and then we go home and have pasta, and you act all surprised that your wish came true."

"But I can never think of anything else I want!"

Lovino rolled his eyes at Grandpa Roma, who just laughed affectionately. Offered his choice of anything in the entire world, Feliciano would naturally choose a bowl of pasta.

"Don't listen to your brother, Feliciano," said Roma merrily. "There are worse things you could…"

The street grew suddenly quiet, Roma trailing off as the heavy, even sound of marching approached. Lovino did not see who it was before Grandpa Roma stepped in front of him and used his arm to push Lovino back off the street. Beside them Antonio did the same to Feliciano. Everyone on the road shrunk back as the marching footsteps grew closer. Lovino peered around Roma's shoulder as rows of black-garbed military marched down the street, their weapons conspicuously on display, the sound of their boots echoing sinisterly off the silent buildings and the sweep of their eyes seeming to drown out the sun. Lovino trembled slightly in spite of himself, watching them march past with a strange mixture of anger and fear and uncertainty. Beside him Feliciano had his eyes squeezed shut as he clung, shaking, to the back of Antonio's shirt. When the troops finally reached the end of the street and turned into the town square, Lovino let out a deep breath and looked from Grandpa Roma to Antonio. Their faces were blank.

"Who are they?" asked Feliciano softly, his voice trembling.

"_Fasci di Combattimento_," said Antonio flatly. "Blackshirts."

"No one," said Roma immediately. "Lovino, take Feliciano to the cantina. Go the back way."

"Why?" asked Lovino angrily. "Where are you going?"

"Lovino," said Roma warningly. "Take Feliciano to the cantina. We will not be far behind."

"They're the government forces, aren't they?" asked Lovino insistently, ignoring Roma's command as long as he could. Lovino knew that Grandpa Roma had always been opposed to the fascist government. But these things never seemed of much importance in their little corner of Italy, where talk of the government and its movements was practically nonexistent. Or had been, until recently. "They're the fascist ones, the ones that agree with Germ..."

"LOVINO!" Lovino jumped at Roma's shout, and Feliciano actually gasped. Roma closed his eyes, smoothed his forehead, then forced his lips into a smile. He leant forward slightly and spoke softly. "You are right, Lovino, of course. But we don't speak of these things in the street. Now you will look after your brother, won't you?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes. That was playing dirty... of course Lovino would look after Feliciano. Looking sideways at his brother, Lovino could see that he was terrified. He sighed wearily to himself and took Feliciano's hand. Feliciano clung to it immediately. "Fine. We'll be at the cantina."

"Good boy," said Roma. Lovino glanced at Antonio quickly, embarrassed, but barely registered the man's expression before turning away.

"Come on, Feliciano, let's go have some of that lemonade you like."

Feliciano followed eagerly. Lovino walked away reluctantly, but not before he heard Roma's words behind him. "They are here, finally. That must mean they have a list of citizens."

"Don't worry, Roma." Antonio's words voice sent an unfamiliar thrill down Lovino's spine. "I'll get you that list."

.

Lovino sat alone and ignored at the cantina, carelessly swinging his feet from a table and crossing his arms sullenly. Feliciano sat at a table in the corner, so engrossed in the picture he was drawing he had barely looked up for an hour. Lovino stared at the closed door to the next room, silently fuming as Grandpa Roma and Antonio carried on a private conversation that Lovino was, once again, denied from hearing. He was sick of never being told anything, of being treated like a child. Grandpa Roma had already explained they were a resistance, but Lovino did not even know what that meant except that he was never allowed to speak of it and never allowed to know exactly what was going on. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know what this 'information' Antonio always brought with him was. He wanted to know where Antonio went when he disappeared for weeks at a time. But more than anything, Lovino burned with curiosity to know what Grandpa Roma and Antonio and the rest of the Resistenza actually did when they went on these 'missions' that seemed so important, missions they spent days planning with maps and weapons and secrecy.

Lovino glanced from Feliciano to the closed door. Surely his brother would not notice if he went and listened… Lovino's curiosity quickly got the better of him. Lovino was quite used to this by now, but if no one ever told him anything, what other choice did he have? He jumped off the table and hurried over to the door to catch what sounded like the end of the conversation.

"Get in and get out, Antonio. You have the false information for them?"

"I have everything. Don't worry, Roma. I've dealt with this man before, it will take me only minutes to get that list."

"Good. Because minutes is all you have. There is a car for you at the end of the street. The one marked with red."

Lovino did not stop to think. If he did, he might start to reason with himself. He might force himself to stop and analyse the situation. He might realise that this was an incredibly stupid thing to do. But he refused to do any of that. He just ran from the cantina, ran to the end of the street, and stopped when he saw a vehicle parked alone with a small red cloth hanging from the window. It was more a truck than a car, the tray at the back completely smothered by a dark canvas covering. His heart pounding, his skin burning, but his mind still refusing to think, Lovino rushed over and threw the heavy material back. Then, determined not to think about what he was doing, he climbed into the back of the truck and threw the covering back over himself.

Darkness engulfed him and a strong, unpleasant metallic smell overpowered his senses. Lovino fought to control his rapid heartbeat and his harsh, heavy breathing. Fought to remain calm. He was going to see what was going on. He was going to be involved in this. He was going to force them all to finally tell him exactly what a resistance actually did. But with only blackness before his eyes, and everything silent but for the blood pulsing in his ears, Lovino's mind finally started to turn. What the hell had he done? What was he doing? Why the hell was he sitting here in the back of this truck about to go God knows where for God knows what reason? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all...

A deep guttural roar tore through the back of the truck, the vehicle shaking as the engine blasted to life. Fear rose in Lovino's throat. He clawed urgently at the covering, but it was too late. The truck took off and Lovino could do nothing but sit in the dark, willing his frantic heart to slow down, trying to stop himself thinking again. Thankfully the drive was not far, though Lovino was sure it felt longer than it actually was. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified when the truck finally stopped and the engine fell quiet. And when he heard Antonio's voice only right beside him, Lovino didn't know if he wanted to jump out of the truck and cling to him desperately or just jump out of the truck and run the hell away. He decided his best bet was just to stay where he was until this whole business was over. No one would ever even know he was here…

"Are all the civilians out of the building?" came Antonio's voice. Lovino found it oddly reassuring, then felt immediately angry that he did.

"All out," replied an unfamiliar voice. "Only your two blackshirts in there. You've got twenty minutes, Carriedo. Twenty minutes and I'll have this car blown sky high."

Lovino was sure he felt his heart stop in his chest. He couldn't breathe. So much for staying where he was…

"I'll have what I need by then," said Antonio.

"Good," replied the stranger's voice. "I won't be in sight. So do not be late, understand?"

"Right." Lovino waited as long as he dared, his heart pounding, sweat rising at the edges of his hair. Finally, knowing he could not stay in the truck, and hoping the stranger had gone, Lovino knocked frantically against the wall beside him. Only a second later the cover flew away above him, he blinked in the sudden sunlight, and Antonio swore loudly. "_Mierda!_"

"Please don't blow me up," Lovino whispered.

"What the… _ay Dios mio_… damn it, Lovino, you have to get out of this car." Antonio grabbed Lovino by the arm and helped him scramble out of the truck. His expression was completely shocked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His feet stumbling to the ground, Lovino scowled angrily and prepared a vicious verbal attack. "I just wanted to see what you were doing, no one tells me anything, I…"

"Listen to me." Lovino fell quiet at the chilling, warning tone in Antonio's voice. He had never heard it before. "I don't know _what_ you're thinking, but you have to do what I say now, understand?"

Lovino mustered just enough irritation through his alarm to sound indignant. "Who the hell do you think..."

"Lovino, I am deadly serious." And then Lovino fell silent again. Antonio had never spoken like this before. He was like a different person. "Keep quiet," Antonio continued. "Do not say a word. Stay by my side. And promise me, that you will do everything I say, no questions."

"I..."

"Promise me." Antonio's eyes were hard, his voice commanding. Lovino gulped back another protest.

"I promise." Lovino was almost surprised at his words, but he did not seem to have an option to do or say otherwise.

Someone appeared at the door of the building beside them and yelled out angrily. "Carriedo, are you joining us or what?" Lovino realised with a shock that he was a blackshirt, one of the fascist government forces that had only just arrived in this part of Italy. The blackshirt looked strangely at Lovino before disappearing into the building, and it finally sunk in just what a stupid, stupid thing Lovino had done. Terror clouded his mind and he stood still, refusing to move even when Antonio took his hand and pulled.

"You'll be all right, Lovino. I won't let anything happen to you." Antonio squeezed his hand and for a moment that cheerful smile was back in place, that gleam in his eyes. Lovino was slightly comforted to see it, but he still pulled back against Antonio's hold.

"I'll… I'll just wait outside…"

Antonio looked almost sorry. "That's too suspicious. Just keep your promise and you'll be fine."

"Oh my God." Lovino crossed himself, an old nervous habit, and Antonio squeezed his hand again.

The room looked like an abandoned pub. A battered looking bar ran along the side wall and a few broken tables and knocked over chairs littered the floor. The blackshirt who had called out from the door leant over a table covered with papers, and another sat back in a chair, eyeing them warily. Lovino clung to Antonio's hand, beyond worrying what the blackshirts or even he himself thought, until Antonio released him and stared at him coolly. His entire demeanour changed in an instant. "Go sit at the bar, boy."

Lovino's eyes widened for the briefest moment, surprised and infuriated, before he remembered his promise. He headed to the barstool closest to the door, praying this would all be over quickly.

"Carriedo, haven't seen you in a while." The standing blackshirt nodded at Antonio, who smiled carefully back. Lovino got the feeling this was the superior officer.

"You know how things are escalating, my friend. I find my time increasingly pressed these days - so I need to make this quick. Surprising to see you down this way, however."

The officer rolled his eyes. "It's a damned insult, being posted here to the arsehole of Italy. Arresting pathetic would-be resistance members. It's a joke."

Antonio laughed, but it wasn't the carefree, joyful laugh that Lovino knew. It was cold, and cruel, and it scared him. "That's actually why I'm here, as I am sure you know. My superiors require that list of yours. We need to destroy this fledgling Resistenza before things go too far."

The sitting blackshirt scoffed and folded his arms before him. "And just why - I would like to know, and have yet to be informed - should we give this important information over to you? It is our job to crush this resistance, too."

Antonio spread his hands placatingly and grinned. It was as cold and joyless as his laugh. "My friend. We are all on the same side here. You work for the greater good, I work for the greater good. And as my friend here can attest," Antonio nodded towards the officer, "My superiors are always good in rewarding those who help us achieve our aims. Besides, I do not expect you to give me this for nothing." Antonio took a thick wad of paper from inside his shirt, walked over to the men, and tossed it onto the mass of papers that already littered the table. "I believe this information will garner you quite enough favour and respect in the eyes of your superiors, even if you are not the ones to dispose of this resistance." The two men immediately reached for the papers and started rifling through them.

Lovino found himself transfixed as he watched. This was not the Antonio he knew, the one with the ready laugh and sparkling eyes and overwhelming generosity, who always brought presents and silly stories and played along with Feliciano's stupid games. But then, Lovino hadn't known Antonio for long at all. Was it just that he was only now seeing the true character of the man? He was torn between an infuriating fear, and a strange, unfamiliar sort of fascinated curiosity. All his thoughts were abruptly broken off, however, when the sitting blackshirt fixed him with a dark, curious glare. "Who is this boy of yours, Carriedo?"

Lovino's pulse thrummed so fast he felt dizzy; his neck burned with a sickening heat. He tried desperately to push down his rising panic. Antonio had said he wouldn't let anything happen to him. Lovino had no choice but to trust him.

"He's no one," said Antonio quickly, smiling in that cruel, fake way.

"No one?" The blackshirt looked suspicious. "No one, who is just sitting here listening to us talk about top secret matters?"

Antonio looked from the blackshirt to Lovino. Lovino gazed back, eyes wide, this unreal fear refusing to subside. Antonio's eyes betrayed no hint of emotion. "Just something I picked up in the neighbouring village," he said smoothly, staring back at the blackshirt. "Now can we make this quick? I'm not paying this kid any more than I have to."

Both blackshirts laughed knowingly, their stares growing sneering and increasingly unpleasant. Lovino's shoulders stiffened, the burn in his neck spreading repulsively. He shrunk back into the bar behind him, regretting the stupid impulse that had led him here, wishing madly that he could somehow go back and get out of this. He tried to shout at Antonio without words. _Get me out of here, you bastard… stop acting like this… oh God, make them stop looking at me like that…_

"Well, now we know why you're in such a damned hurry!" said the blackshirt, standing and kicking his chair behind him, his savage eyes fixed on Lovino. Lovino bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"Exactly. So let's get this over with, shall we. That list?" Antonio reached for the papers in the officer's hand, but the man swiftly pulled them back and looked pointedly at Lovino. His smile sent shudders down Lovino's spine, that cold voice creeping under his skin.

"I don't think the information you've given us is a fair price for this list. Perhaps there is something else you can trade instead."

Antonio's shoulders stiffened. Lovino noticed his gaze drop subtly, almost imperceptibly, to take in the weapons by the men's sides. Lovino wondered madly if Antonio was armed. His momentary slip only lasted a second, and Antonio looked up and smiled once again. "I don't see why not. How about you meet me at the local inn and we can continue this exchange? I am on my way there as soon as we conclude our business."

"Why go as far as that?" asked the officer, taking a threatening step forward. "Here is as good a place as any. There are rooms upstairs." Lovino's entire body constricted. He shrunk back as far as he could, the bar pressing uncomfortably into his back.

Antonio's fists clenched then relaxed. The other blackshirt also took a step forward. Lovino did not understand what was going on, did not want to understand. Again, all he could do was trust in Antonio. Antonio broke the tension by clapping the superior officer on the back and laughing loudly. "Well, we are all friends, aren't we? Just try not to take too long." Lovino told himself Antonio was playing a part. This wasn't really him… Antonio did not mean this…

"Ah, it shouldn't, he's pretty enough. Besides, they all look the same from behind." The officer's eyes shot through Lovino from across the room.

"He's young too, that always helps," added the other blackshirt. Their menacing leers and laughter was making Lovino sick, making his skin crawl. Antonio laughed along with them, slipped an arm over the officer's shoulder; and then, quickly and easily, he had the list in his hand. He immediately pushed it into his pocket and backed away.

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement. And please, I even insist you go first." Lovino couldn't breathe. He couldn't handle this… he was going to panic, going to scream, going to run… "But first," continued Antonio, "It's freezing in here. Isn't it freezing in here? Hey, kid." Antonio was looking at him, speaking to him. Lovino stared at him pleadingly, but Antonio's face was blank. "Run outside and grab my jacket from the car."

Lovino did not think twice. He jumped up and ran. Once out in the cool, open air he stopped, relief flooding him to be out of that awful, stifling room, away from those vile stares and revolting laughs. But now he had no idea what to do. Run? Wait? Lovino stared helplessly around the deserted street; angry, frustrated tears starting to rise. He silently begged Antonio to hurry. His breathing came too fast, his hands shaking, his mind still too close to panicking… Lovino almost sobbed with relief when Antonio walked swiftly out the door, grabbed his hand, and practically dragged him down the street.

"Keep walking, do not stop." Antonio's face was fixed in a cold, rigid expression Lovino had never seen before, his steely eyes fixed on the distance, his mouth drawn almost into a snarl. They almost ran as they rushed away from the building.

"What just happened?" asked Lovino, cold fear still running through his veins. "What did you do?"

"Just keep walking."

"What's going on? What did they want?"

"It's nothing, Lovino." But Lovino had never seen the carefree, cheerful Spaniard look so furious.

"But what..." Suddenly a massive explosion blasted from behind, the deafening noise tearing down the empty street. The air turned briefly hot and heavy. Lovino's body jolted in shock. He looked over his shoulder to see the car in pieces and the building burning, its front wall torn away. Lovino's legs went weak; he stumbled, but Antonio immediately drew him up and continued to pull him down the street. "Oh my God," gasped Lovino breathlessly. "Oh my God…"

An empty car waited just around the corner. Antonio opened the passenger door, helping Lovino into the vehicle before climbing into the driver's seat and speeding off. Lovino clutched the armrest, his mind frozen in shock, his whole body shaking. Nothing was real, nothing could be real, this was all too fast, too surreal, too much…

"You're okay, Lovino. Just breathe. You're safe, and you're with me, and everything's fine now."

Lovino tried to do as Antonio said, tried to breathe, but his chest was too tight and his throat too dry. "Those men... they were still in there…"

"Yes."

"You said... you said you could never kill anyone…"

"I said I could never kill an innocent person. Those men were not innocent, Lovino. It is hard, I know, and difficult to understand. But through their deaths we saved a lot of people today." Antonio's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes still too cold and too hard. Lovino did not like it at all. He wanted Antonio to smile, to laugh, to say something silly and idiotic in his cheerful Spanish accent. This side of Antonio terrified him. But at the same time, Lovino found his curiosity somewhat abated. This was what the Resistenza, what Antonio, actually did… this was what Lovino had wanted to know. Lovino forced himself to breathe evenly, to calm down.

"They… they thought you were working for them," said Lovino softly.

"A lot of people think I am working for them."

"What is on that paper you asked for?"

"It is a list of local villagers under suspicion from the government."

Lovino swallowed a wave of nausea, then forced himself to ask the question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. "What did they... those men… they said they wanted something in exchange..."

Antonio smashed his foot on the accelerator. Lovino gripped the side of the seat as the car shot forward. "That was nothing, Lovino. Don't think anymore about that."

Lovino forced himself to stay quiet the rest of the short drive. Antonio parked the car in the same spot the truck had left from earlier. Lovino followed him down the narrow street and up the stairs opposite the cantina to his rented apartment. "I just have to put these papers away," said Antonio quickly. "Then I'll take you home, okay? You're all right, Lovino, it's okay now."

Everything was going so fast, and Lovino was so confused, feeling like a whirlwind was rushing through his head. Antonio was still not himself. The room spun as Antonio led Lovino swiftly through the front door of his shabby rented rooms, talking nonstop the whole way, repeating himself; looking strangely like he was fighting with himself. "I just need to put these papers in the safe… It will only take me a moment, then I'll walk you home straight away… It's okay now, Lovino… Just let me put these away, and we'll leave immediately…" Antonio's accent grew heavier as he spoke, and Lovino fought to understand what he was saying, why he was speaking so frantically, why everything was whirling and fuzzy and why…

The world finally stopped spinning when Antonio dropped the papers in a heap, turned, and pulled Lovino forcefully into his arms. Lovino froze, his arms at his side, his mind a hot muddled mess of confusion and shock. "Don't you ever… EVER… do anything like that again, do you understand me?" Antonio almost yelled the words.

Lovino could not move. His mind was numb. He did not know if Antonio was angry or upset or had lost his mind completely. "I…"

"My God, Lovino, that was… just don't…" Lovino felt Antonio's arms pressed firmly around his back, holding him, encircling him; felt his rising chest against his cheek and his warm breath against his hair. Antonio's voice was gentler when he spoke again. "Please don't ever do that again."

Lovino had no idea what to do. So he very slowly, hesitantly, raised his hands and rested them against Antonio's arms. Because that awful experience was over, and despite everything, Lovino felt safe like this. "All right," he replied softly. But Antonio did not move. The room was so quiet, so still, silent but for the sound of their rapid breathing in the heavy air. The entire horrific afternoon melted away until there was nothing but this. A knot twisted in Lovino's stomach; a shiver fluttered in his throat. He did not know if he could pull away from Antonio's strong arms, and he did not know if he wanted to. So he just clutched them tighter, turned his head and felt Antonio's lips and breath so close above him. His pulse raced so fast he couldn't breathe through it, his skin burned like it was the middle of summer, and he felt Antonio's heart beating against his ear almost as fast as his own.

Lovino started to feel dizzy, unsure, just as Antonio's arms tightened around him. And then their bodies were pressed so close together, melded from their chests to their hips. Antonio said his name and it sounded like worship, so Lovino rocked closer, until he said it again and it sounded like penitence. The tight, hot spiral in Lovino's chest shot through his spine and coiled in his base of his gut, spreading lower, until he was almost panting from the unfamiliar but rapturous sensations flooding his body. And Antonio's lips were so close and his breath so warm; his arms so firm and his smell so overpowering… Lovino couldn't move, couldn't think, could only press against him, feeling that hot coil tighten, spiralling, moving towards something… Lovino gasped loudly, whispered softly… "_Oh_..."

"Damn it, no,_ BASTA_!" Lovino staggered backwards as Antonio suddenly pushed him away forcefully. It took all his strength and balance to keep from tumbling to the floor. When he came back to himself, the room was cold, dark, silent. Antonio stood at the other end of the room, his hands on his head, his back to Lovino. A confused shame spread slowly from Lovino's still fuzzy brain, until he was entirely engulfed by a burning, nauseating humiliation. Antonio had pushed him away. Lovino had got carried away, had misinterpreted. Antonio must be disgusted, appalled. Lovino could hear his breathing from across the room. "You need to go, Lovino." Antonio's voice was shaking. "Immediately. You need to leave right now."

Lovino covered his mouth and staggered backwards, mortified. "I… I'm sorr…" Lovino choked on the word, blinking his rising tears away in silent anger. His embarrassment shifted abruptly to boiling rage. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "You bastard, how dare you!" How dare Antonio push him away like that? How dare he make Lovino feel like this? How dare he change completely into this person Lovino barely recognised? Lovino's fury intensified when Antonio did not turn. He yelled as loud as he dared, loud enough to try and drown the ugly, sickening humiliation that burned his skin, that made him want to run and hide forever. "I hate you! Get the hell out of my village, get the hell out of my life! I never, ever want to see you again! Do you understand? I hate you, you complete bastard!"

Lovino ran out of the room. He refused to acknowledge the tears in his eyes, the anguish in his chest. He focused only on his anger. He raced down the road, out of the village, and tried to convince himself that wasn't upset; he wasn't disappointed; he wasn't completely and utterly crushed. No, he was just mad, furious, wild with hatred. Lovino hated Antonio Carriedo. He had to. Because it was too painful to think what it meant if he didn't.

.

Lovino did not see Antonio for a week. He deliberately stayed away from the cantina, and Antonio did not come to the farmhouse. Lovino told himself he was glad. But for days all he saw when he closed his eyes was those sickening looks on the blackshirt's faces, that burning building, that destroyed car. All he heard in the silence was that massive fireball of an explosion; Antonio's breathing. All he felt, in dark early hours when he could not sleep and could not stop his mind from running, was Antonio's arms around him; his breath on his neck; that blissful feeling Lovino could not explain… and then Antonio's hands forcefully pushing him away. Grandpa Roma seemed to sense that something was wrong, even if he did not ask. But thankfully, Feliciano was as oblivious as ever.

"Lovino, that's not fair, it's my turn!" Feliciano raced beside Lovino, trying to kick the soccer ball from under his feet. Lovino skillfully kept it away, almost laughing as he led the way out of the back garden and around the side of the house.

"You have to get the ball yourself, how will you ever learn?" Lovino shouted back before kicking the ball ahead and chasing after it. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the well-trimmed grass and the autumn breeze was surprisingly cool as it gusted past, shaking the trees in the surrounding fields. Lovino was actually grateful to Feliciano for this stupid distraction. For the first time in a week, he was barely even thinking of Antonio at all.

"But Lovino, you're faster than me, it's not fair!"

"Nothing's fair, Feliciano. Now come on, I know you can run faster than that. Come steal this ball from me!" Keeping the ball before him, Lovino raced around the corner of the house, off the grass, onto the narrow lane; and almost ran straight into Antonio. Lovino choked back a shout of surprise. His heart leapt uncomfortably to his throat and he jerked to a sudden stop, the ball flying forgotten down the lane. Sweat rose to his brow and his shoulders stiffened as he took a wary step backward.

"Good morning, Lovino!" Antonio's voice was as cheerful as ever, his simple, gleeful smile back in place. He looked like himself again, not that unfamiliar Antonio who had spoken so sinisterly to the blackshirts, who had acted so strangely as he led Lovino into his rented room. Lovino felt the familiar nervous twisting of his stomach, but this time, he felt anger as well. He just shook his head, stony faced, as Feliciano came racing out of the garden and ran up to Antonio, laughing breathlessly.

"Antonio! Did you bring me a present? What did you bring me?"

"Of course, Feli, don't I always? For you I have…" Antonio put down the large case he was carrying and pulled a small, circular drum from the bag over his shoulder. Feliciano blinked at it quizzically. "It's a tambourine!" Antonio explained with a smile. "You play it. Like this." Antonio shook the drum, causing the small metal disks to jingle cheerfully. Feliciano's face lit up and he grabbed the tambourine from Antonio's hand, immediately shaking it wildly and bursting into laughter.

"Wow! This is fantastic!"

Lovino closed his eyes briefly. Just what Feliciano needed: another way to make noise. Why did Antonio always have to be so damn oblivious? "Say thank you, Feliciano," said Lovino wearily.

"Thank you, Antonio! I'm going to show Grandpa!" Feliciano raced into the house, shaking the tambourine the whole way, leaving Lovino standing alone with Antonio. Uncertain and uneasy, Lovino took a few steps backwards, then turned to follow Feliciano.

"Lovino."

Lovino paused, his heart pounding traitorously. "What."

"I'm heading away for a while." Antonio said the words too easily. Lovino refused to think or feel anything. He refused, damn it.

"Oh. Good. Grandpa is inside, I'm sure he will want to know."

Once again, Lovino stood listening to a conversation he was not supposed to hear. He had tried to walk away, had told himself he wanted to walk away, but in the end he was helpless to stop himself pressing a wine glass to the kitchen door and trying to make out the words that drifted through. So far all he had managed to understand was that Antonio was going away. But then, that was to be expected… Antonio had been coming and going frequently for months. Why was this time any different?

"I don't understand," said Roma. "Right when things are escalating..."

"You're doing fine. The members you have here are loyal, skilled, and dedicated, and you're going to need them. I am afraid your quiet little corner of Italy has become far too strategic a position for any side to ignore."

"Which is why we need an informant more than ever. I just don't see why you are leaving now, when we really need you."

"I can better help the cause from a distance. The blackshirt's control is growing too great, and rumours of an occupation are already starting. Before things go too far, I need to establish an escape route to Spain."

Roma paused for a moment. "Yes, of course, that's right. We will see you again, though."

"Yes. But not for a while. It should take a year, at the very least. More likely two or three."

The wine glass fell to the floor and shattered. Lovino did not hear anymore. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach, his blood running cold under burning skin. He raced out the back kitchen door, through the sunny garden, and onto the road. He headed down the road that led to the mountains, unheeding of the cold wind, those words echoing in his head… _a year, at the very least. More likely two or three…_ Lovino did not stop until he reached a broken fence just off the side of the road. He fell down against it, breathing heavily, his hands shaking and his chest feeling like it would collapse. Two or three years. It was a lifetime. Forever. It should not hurt so bad… he was angry at Antonio, Lovino told himself. Furious. He hated him. But it was useless. No matter how many times Lovino said it, he didn't. He didn't hate Antonio at all. And that just made him angrier. That he could feel this way about someone who just kept hurting him.

Lovino sat against the fence, watching the blue sky darken, the brown leaves fall from nearby trees and dust the green grass below. So this was it. He would not see Antonio again, not for years. This was the end of the whole stupid, pointless chapter. He supposed, in a way, he was almost relieved. Despite how much it hurt. Lovino started to feel sleepy as he watched one fallen leaf dance in the wind. It twisted and turned, blown on a single gust of air, flying up and falling down again against the backdrop of the distant mountains. Lovino could feel his head begin to drop, his eyes start to close…

"Lovino."

Lovino jumped and gasped, then looked up sharply. Antonio stood looking down, placing his bag and case on the ground. Lovino shook the sleep from his head and pushed himself up, ignoring the way his heart did that stupid fluttering thing. "Go away!"

"Please." Something about the way Antonio said it made Lovino pause. He stared warily for a moment, drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.

"I thought you were leaving."

"I am. I am taking the road through the mountains. My car is down this road. I did not think I would be lucky enough to find you on the way!"

"Shut up." It was a stupid, childish response, but Lovino could not think of anything else to say. Antonio ignored it.

"Well, I am glad I did." Antonio sat slowly against the fence, leaving a careful distance between them. "I haven't given you your present yet."

Lovino eyed him warily. "Why would you have a present for me? You hate me. That's why you're leaving."

Antonio looked slightly astonished, then he laughed and shook his head. "Oh, that is so very far from the truth."

Lovino drew his eyebrows together. "So, you're not leaving because of me?"

"No, I am. But not because I hate you."

"That makes no sense, bastard."

"Maybe you'll understand one day."

Lovino fell silent. He very much doubted that. Antonio reached for the case beside him, opened it, and to Lovino's complete surprise, drew out a guitar. "This is for you."

Lovino just stared, struck still with astonishment. He had wanted a guitar for years, but had given up all hope of acquiring one now that the war had started. He could not believe, after everything, that Antonio was handing one to him so easily. "Oh." Lovino touched the guitar, then looked up into Antonio's smiling face and dropped his hand. He gave Antonio a quizzical glance, not sure what to ask, how to ask. "Last week," Antonio explained, "in the village, Feliciano said that you threw a coin in the fountain and wished for a guitar."

Lovino shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "I only said that to make Feliciano stop pestering me."

"Oh, so you don't want a guitar?" Antonio started to place it back in the case. Lovino unthinkingly reached out to stop him.

"No, I do, I…" Antonio grinned triumphantly and Lovino felt his cheek burn red. Why did Antonio always do these stupid things? Lovino looked at the ground and mumbled, "I don't know how to play."

"You'll learn. It's easy. Listen." Antonio held the guitar in position and strummed a few chords until a slow, lyrical melody started to flow from the strings. He smiled at Lovino. "This is a new song I heard recently. It made me think of you." Lovino did not have time to fully register that before Antonio started singing. Lovino could not understand the Spanish words, but Antonio's voice was wonderful; light and lilting and flowing so easily over the notes. Despite himself Lovino found himself enthralled by it, mesmerised, wrapped in the rich harmonies that drifted from the guitar and Antonio's lips. Lovino did not think he breathed the entire song, watching Antonio's fingers stroke across the strings and his lips form those beautiful words, until the last line which Lovino almost thought he understood… "_Bésame mucho, love me forever and make all my dreams come true." _For a brief moment Lovino wondered if Antonio had sung the line in Italian; but no, he must have misheard. Lovino did not say anything, but he carefully took the guitar when Antonio handed it over. "When I see you again, you can play something for me!"

Lovino ran his hand over the polished wood, his heart beating faster, his mind running wild with confused and conflicting emotions. "I'll probably just put it in my cupboard and never look at it again."

Antonio shrugged cheerfully. "Do whatever you wish with it, it's yours!"

But Antonio was supposed to be mad at Lovino. He wasn't supposed to turn up all cheerful and happy and give him a guitar and sing to him and confuse him even more and… "What did I do wrong?" Lovino winced as soon as the words were out. He shouldn't have said that. Damn it, he should _not_ have said that.

Antonio shook his head, his expression suddenly serious. "You did nothing wrong..."

Lovino should not have said it, and yet, he could not stop... "I know I shouldn't have hid in the car that day, I really didn't want to mess anything up, I…"

"No, Lovino, listen. I have to apologise to you. I'm so sorry." Antonio started to reach out his hand, then quickly snatched it back and laughed shakily to himself. "Twenty-five years old and I still don't how to react properly, do I. This whole time, I've been so out of line. I never should have made you run home alone the other day, after that explosion, after what I…" Antonio sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. Lovino could not follow what Antonio was trying to say. "Lovino, you didn't do anything wrong. I did. That's why I'm leaving."

"But you'll come back." Lovino tried to make it sound like he didn't care. He tried to convince himself he didn't care.

"After I have established an escape route to Spain, and made some more contacts, yes, I will come back. It could be a few years. But this war will not be over anytime soon."

"No." Lovino looked up at the darkening sky, feeling Antonio's eyes on him. They sat like that, silent but for the sound of the wind, until Antonio finally spoke again.

"I have to leave. My car will be waiting."

"All right." Lovino kept his eyes on the sky, his hands clutching the guitar.

"I'll see you soon, Lovino. Stay safe. Don't do anything stupid. Promise me."

Lovino finally looked over at Antonio, who smiled cheerfully again. Lovino furrowed his brow and suppressed that flutter in his stomach. "Why do you keep asking these stupid promises?"

Antonio laughed as he stood and picked up his bag. He smiled down at Lovino, his brown hair waving in the wind, his bright eyes greener than the grass. "_Adios_, _mi cora__zón__."_ Then he turned and walked away.

Lovino watched Antonio walk back onto the road, swinging his bag, whistling tunelessly as he went. Lovino watched him walk away, away to Spain, away to danger, away to God knows where. Away for years. Lovino watched him until he disappeared around a fork in the road. And he wondered why it hurt so damn much.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>

* * *

><p><em>* Basta - Stop<em>

_*(YouTube)/watch?v=ORGQ9df3ZbY_


	3. Chapter 3

_(YouTube) /watch?v=ua5Ak4O9P88_

* * *

><p><em>Summer, 1934<br>__The French Countryside_

_._

_"It's getting late. We should probably start heading back to town." Francis said the words reluctantly._

_Antonio held a sprig of lavender to his nose and inhaled deeply. The bright afternoon sun descended slowly in the darkening sky above him; the thick, soft green grass felt like a blanket beneath him._

_"Here, have another drink first," said Gilbert, passing a bottle of wine to Francis over Antonio's head. The red liquid sparkled as a ray of sunlight filtered through the glass._

_"Fine," said Francis, taking the bottle. "But we can't stay on this hill all night."_

_"Why not?" asked Antonio. "I feel like I could lie here forever."_

_Francis laughed. "I'm quite sure you could, you lazy bastard."_

_"I can't believe the week's almost over," said Gilbert. "How does it always go so damn fast?"_

_Antonio shook his head, without an answer to that question. For the last five years, since he had turned fifteen, the best times of Antonio's life had been these brief weeks during the year he managed to spend with his two best friends. Talking, laughing, arguing, flirting, drinking, sightseeing… if only life could always be like this._

_"Next time, my place, yeah?" continued Gilbert. "Ludwig's been asking when he's gonna see you guys again."_

_"How is the little guy?" asked Antonio. "Did he like that model plane I sent for his birthday?"_

_"Not so little anymore. Twelve years old and the little shit's nearly bigger than me. But he loved the plane. It's hanging from his ceiling with all the others."_

_"All right," said Francis. "Let's make it December, shall we? There's nothing like Christmas in Germany."_

_"Yes," agreed Antonio. "Gingerbread houses and glowing Christmas trees and candles and snow…"_

_"Gluehwein and schnapps and beer…"_

_"Muscular men in lederhosen and busty barmaids in low cut dirndls... Ahh," Francis sighed dramatically. "Yes, this December I shall fall in love in Germany."_

_Antonio twisted his neck and squinted up at Francis. "You're not going to fall in love. You're going to sleep with people."_

_Francis peered down at him disdainfully. "Yes, and I fall in love with everyone who shares my bed."_

_"That's not love, Francis. That's sex."_

_"Who are you to tell me what is love and what is not? I have fallen in love a thousand times, and I will a thousand more."_

_"Urgh," said Gilbert loudly. "I can safely promise you, I will never fall in love."_

_Antonio gazed back up at the dark blue sky and breathed the warm, clean scent of lavender. "I will fall in love but once."_

_"How terribly boring, mon cher. I never would have thought I'd hear you moralising."_

_"I'm not moralising. You can sleep with whomever you choose - bonne chance; cuidate; viel Spass. I am simply saying that I believe you only ever truly love once."_

_Francis scoffed. "And just how are you supposed to tell this one true love from all the others?"_

_"Well, I don't know yet. But I will when it happens. It'll be something like, when you look at them, this one person, and you really, truly see them. It might be immediate, or it might not be the first time you look. And it might be earth shattering, but it could also be just a silent realisation. But it's when you look at them and you realise, beyond any doubt, that they are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in all your life."_

_Francis gasped in mock revelation. "I think that happened with that barmaid last night…"_

_Gilbert snorted. "You're both insane. This stupid idea of love doesn't even exist."_

_Antonio shrugged. "Laugh all you want. But it will happen. When I see them… I'll know."_

_._

_Spring, 1942  
>A village in Italy<em>

.

The air was warm and still, the afternoon sun low and golden through the orange clouds as Lovino and Grandpa Roma walked cheerfully down the country road towards home. Feliciano skipped excitedly around them. Someone had given him a glass of wine, which never failed to make him even more unbearably happy and energetic than usual. But today that was all right. Today Lovino did not mind. Because today was a good day for a free Italy.

_"O partigiano, portami via,"_ sang Roma, his boisterous baritone almost echoing in the fields around them.

_"O bella, ciao! Bella, ciao! Bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!" _Feliciano was always the better singer. Lovino only sang when drunk. Which probably had something to do with why he joined in as his brother chanted the chorus cheerfully back at Grandpa Roma.

_"O partigiano, portami via…"_

_"Ché mi sento di morir!"_

They all dissolved into wild peals of laughter. The mission that morning had gone perfectly - a truckload of weapons and vital information blown sky high - and the afternoon had been spent drinking, singing, and celebrating in the back room of the Cantina Verde. Lovino had actually been allowed along on the mission this time. Of course, he had done no more than stand with Grandpa Roma across the street as he gave the signal, but he had still been there. Still been a part of it. He was not sure if it was the wine or the exhilarating adrenaline still running through his veins that had him so exuberant.

"What's next, Grandpa?" Lovino asked eagerly when he finally managed to bring his laughter under control. "A base? A supplies route? A secret location in town?"

"Oh, Lovino," sighed Roma, smiling and clapping a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Can't we just celebrate today?"

"But we must think ahead, yes?" The sun dimmed behind the trees as they turned into the narrow lane leading to the house. "That's what you always say, and I showed you today that I can take more responsibility, and I really think it's time that I..."

Lovino trailed off slowly as he looked up the road to the front door. There was someone standing before it. Lovino felt suddenly hot and dizzy as everything spun inside his head and time slowed to a stop. Feliciano gasped loudly, and Roma took a few hurried steps forward, holding his hand above his eyes and squinting. "Is that..."

"Antonio!" Feliciano cried, bolting up the lane and throwing his arms around the laughing Spaniard. Roma laughed and followed him, clapping Antonio on the back, kissing his cheeks in exuberant greeting. Lovino just stood still, stunned, beyond any thought or feeling, watching the lively greeting from a distance. His entire world split apart, spun around, turned upside down. He had long ago lost track of the days since Antonio had left. All he really knew, now, was that he had not really expected him to come back. It took Lovino too long to move, to force himself to walk slowly up the lane.

"It is so good to see you here finally!" said Roma, his loud voice carrying down the street.

Antonio's grin shone down the lane, lit up the countryside. "It's good to be here, Roma."

"Why were you gone so long? Where did you go? What did you see? Oh, oh, did you bring me presents?"

"Of course I did, Feli!"

Antonio finally looked up and smiled softly when Lovino eventually reached the doorstep. He looked exactly the same as Lovino remembered... and he evoked the exact same reaction. Still this fluttering in his heart, in his stomach; still this annoying ache that he could not suppress, could not control. Still this anger that Antonio had left, that he had not come back. After all this time - almost three years. Three years and not a thing had changed. Antonio smiled brightly, cheerfully, then rolled his eyes to the sky and laughed. "Not a damn thing."

For a brief, mad moment Lovino thought Antonio had read his mind. Then he folded his arms and scowled. "Not a damn thing what?"

Antonio just shook his head, his green eyes twinkling as he smiled that infuriating, perfect, terrible, wonderful smile. "Nothing."

Roma opened the door, took Antonio's arm, and led him into the house. "Come in, come in! Let us not stand on the doorstep all day!"

Feliciano bounced through the door, Lovino following slowly, still dazed and slightly confused. Antonio smiled the whole time: as Roma took his bags and offered him food and practically forced him into a seat at the table, as Feliciano laughed and asked endless questions, as it all went too fast over Lovino's head and he struggled to comprehend that Antonio was actually sitting before him, in his house, in his life. That he was really here, after all this time, no longer just an intangible dream in his memory but really here, smiling and laughing and answering Feliciano's questions and brushing his hair back and nodding and glancing over at Lovino so subtly, so briefly...

Roma placed two bottles of wine on the table. "I'll fetch some glasses..."

"I'll get them," Lovino almost shouted before quickly rushing into the kitchen. Once alone in the room he let out a deep, shaking breath and leant against the bench, staring at his hands before him. Three years and he thought he had gotten over this. But this reaction… this was stronger than he remembered. This threw him off balance; this was scary and unexpected and so intense it was painful. How could Antonio look so wonderful, his voice still so cheerful, his eyes still so warm and sparkling? How could he so easily shatter three years of trying to forget?

Unbidden memory came quickly flooding back. Memories Lovino had tried to suppress, that he had played over in his head a hundred times. Antonio leaning towards him and whispering he was beautiful; holding his hand and saying he would protect him; singing in Spanish and handing him a guitar and looking down at him in the sun and calling him his _'c__orazón_.' And of course that moment, that moment that lived fixed in Lovino's memory, the one he replayed over and over in dark early hours alone. Antonio holding him close: the feel of his arms and his breath, the touch of his hands, those sensations he awoke and feelings he evoked that never really went away. And then, those same hands pushing him away. Lovino realised that he was still angry about it, after all these years.

By now Lovino was practically gasping, defenceless against the memories and emotions that assaulted him relentlessly. Because now Antonio was back. In the next room. He was here, he was back, and this was real again, and Lovino didn't know how...

"Lovino?"

"Holy shit!" Lovino jumped and spun around. Feliciano squeaked. "Don't sneak up on people, Feliciano!"

Feliciano held up his hands defencively. "But, I didn't, I…"

"What the hell do you want?"

"You said you were going to get glasses and you've been in here for fifteen minutes."

"Oh. Right, fine, I'm…" Lovino opened the cupboard and reached for the wine glasses. "I'm coming now."

Feliciano tilted his head. "Are you all right, Lovino? You seem…"

"I'm fine!" Lovino slammed the cupboard door shut and stormed back into the front room.

Sitting at the table while Antonio, Roma and Feliciano talked brightly and easily, Lovino felt at a complete loss. He did not know how to act, where to look, what to do with his hands. He searched for something to focus on and settled for the drink before him, quickly making his way through two glasses of wine before Roma took the bottle from him and told him to slow down. Lovino glared at the table, embarrassed, with no choice but to listen to Antonio's cheerful, lilting Spanish accent. It was obvious Antonio was only speaking of unimportant topics in front of him and Feliciano. He avoided mentioning anything about the war, instead chatting about silly things like the different cars they had in Belgium and the strange weather in Spain. He gave them presents from the places he'd been – chocolate from Switzerland, wine from France, books of poetry from England. And the whole time Antonio only ever gave Lovino the tiniest glances, the smallest smiles, while he laughed and joked and gave his full attention to Feliciano and Roma. Lovino started to wonder if the stupid bastard even noticed he was there. Not that he was upset by it, or hurt, because he wasn't, and he didn't care, he…

"And how have you been, Lovino? Have you learnt to play your guitar?"

Lovino froze. And stared. Antonio was looking at him. Smiling at him. Waiting for him to speak. And oh God, his brain had just shut down and he couldn't think of a single thing to say, he couldn't…

Roma grinned broadly. "Lovino's lucky that his old Grandpa learnt to play back in the day. He inherited my natural talent, of course. He's a virtuoso on the thing, aren't you Lovino?"

Antonio was still looking right at him. Lovino still couldn't speak. Why this nervousness, this tight knot in his throat and his chest and his gut making it impossible for him to say or do or think anything... Lovino looked down into his hands. "No," he managed to choke out. "Not really." He could have kicked himself. Luckily, Antonio quickly changed the subject.

"What do you think of the book, Feli?"

Feliciano tilted his head as he flipped quizzically through the book of English poetry Antonio had given him. "It says the poems are romantic but they're all just about mountains and roses and people shooting seagulls."

Antonio laughed loudly. Lovino clenched his teeth. "'Romantic' refers to an artistic movement," Antonio explained. "It's not always about love."

"Oh." Feliciano looked disappointed.

Antonio smiled at Lovino. "But love poems are my favourite too, Feli." Lovino ignored him and reached for the wine bottle.

Grandpa Roma forced Antonio to stay for dinner and the night continued the same way - Feliciano and Roma chattering on, Antonio laughing and asking them questions. Lovino staring silently at the table, the back of his neck burning and his stomach rolling with anger and jealousy and frustration. He barely ate, barely looked up, barely spoke the entire meal; but then, Antonio, Roma and Feliciano needed no help with the conversation. And Lovino was used to being ignored, after all.

After what felt like all night, and like only an instant, Antonio finally put down his glass and started to stand. "I am afraid I have imposed on you far too long. It is time I headed back to my rooms in town."

Lovino did not know if the feeling in his chest was relief or disappointment. But then Roma stood quickly and grasped Antonio's shoulder. "Nonsense, my friend. You have drunk far too much wine to make the trip safely. You will stay here tonight."

Lovino took a deep gulp of air and immediately choked. He coughed, spluttered, gasped for breath, then grabbed a bottle of wine and took a few swigs to try and clear his throat. Finally catching his breath, Lovino looked up, eyes streaming, wine dripping from his mouth, to find everyone staring at him.

"Wow," said Feliciano. "Are you all right?"

Lovino's cheeks burned in humiliation. He took a few deep breaths, slammed the bottle down, and kicked the chair behind him as he stood. "Shut up. What the hell are you all looking at? Fuck off!"

"Lovino!" shouted Roma, but Lovino ignored him and stormed from the room.

Lovino refused to speak to Feliciano when he barrelled into the bedroom asking what was wrong, why he was so cranky tonight, why he wasn't happy to see Antonio like him and Grandpa Roma, why he just kept glaring angrily like that… Lovino simply ignored him and threw the blanket over his head, intent on a very long sleep-in the next morning.

But he could not sleep. Of course he could not sleep. How the hell could he sleep when Antonio was in the next damn room? This was all so stupid, and he had only made a damn fool of himself all night, and he was so mad at himself that he acted this way, felt this way, and why could he not stop his thoughts from running like this and damn it all he needed some air.

Lovino got out of bed and pulled on a shirt. He checked to see that Feliciano was asleep before leaving the room and heading down the hall into the kitchen. He pushed through the door into the back garden, stumbled a little, and realised he was still a little drunk. The night was warm, the garden illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon. The nighttime air was scented with lily and rosemary. Lovino walked directly to the back wall, leant against it, and stared up at the starlit sky. It felt calmer out here; almost like he could finally begin to think clearly. But just as he started to lower his gaze, he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that someone was standing only metres away from him. A sharp jolt shot through his head and Lovino took a deep gasping breath, almost crying out as he placed a hand to his chest in shock.

"Sorry, it's me, sorry!" Recognising Antonio almost made Lovino's shock worse. Could this night possibly get more embarrassing? "Sorry, Lovino, did I scare you?" Lovino looked at Antonio like he was insane, and tried to even his breathing. Antonio's face suddenly furrowed in concern. "Seriously, Lovino, are you all right?"

"You stupid bastard, damn it, what the hell are you doing, you scared the absolute shit out of me, who the hell stands in other people's gardens at midnight, I mean oh my God, really!"

Antonio bit back a smile and sucked in a breath through his teeth, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry." He scratched his head then held out a small packet. "Would you like a cigarette?"

Lovino looked down at the offering warily, his breath coming a little easier. He narrowed his eyes. "Yes." He reached out and took one. He stared as Antonio put a cigarette between his own lips, struck a match, lit it, then held the light out to Lovino. Lovino lifted the cigarette uncertainly to his lips. Antonio held the match to it, smiling, his eyes glittering behind the flame.

"Don't tell your Grandpa."

Lovino had no idea why those words sent an aching, tingling, excited shiver shooting down his spine and across his skin. "It's none of his business anyway," said Lovino flippantly. "I'm eighteen years old, I can do what I like." Lovino took a draw on the cigarette and immediately dissolved into a coughing fit.

"Don't inhale," said Antonio. He almost sounded like he was laughing.

Lovino fought once again for breath before his lungs finally cleared. He glared up at Antonio, his eyes wet from coughing. "Why am I always left breathless around you?" Damn. That hadn't come out very well. "I… you… I mean… what are you doing here?"

Antonio answered too easily. "I needed some air. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"No, I mean what are you doing here? Why did you come back now?"

This time Antonio paused. "It was the right time. What with the Germans taking control, and..." Antonio stopped, then sighed, then shook his head almost disbelievingly, just gazing at Lovino. "But it is so good to see you again, Lovino. And you're so grown up!"

Lovino shrunk back against the wall, feeling the need to hide from Antonio's eyes. "Well, that's what happens in three years."

Antonio nodded and took a draw on his cigarette. He smiled at the ground. "I missed you."

Lovino could suddenly feel his heart pounding within his chest. "I didn't even think of you." That was, of course, a total lie. Not a day had passed in three years that Lovino had not thought of Antonio. While the other village boys talked about girls, while Grandpa Roma joked about him getting a girlfriend, while he grew to understand just what was expected of a man and a woman… all Lovino thought of was Antonio.

"That is understandable," said Antonio quietly. "I thought you might have forgotten me." Lovino didn't say it, but that was impossible. And he should know - he'd tried.

"Why did it take you so long?"

"Well, I was very busy."

"And you couldn't visit once? Not once, in three years?"

Antonio looked surprised. "Well, I..."

"I was so confused when you left, you know. I wasn't sure if I had done something wrong, but you said that I hadn't, but you also said that you left because of me, and I never quite understood why."

There was a very long pause as Antonio stared at him, as Lovino slowly processed what he had actually just said. He very nearly ran away, but then Antonio responded. "Lovino, I am so sorry. I think I told you once, that I was never very good at separating right from wrong – that I always felt too much to know the difference." Antonio broke off again, like he was debating whether to continue. Lovino waited silently, his heart fluttering, his hands shaking. The night was so still and silent around them; like they were somewhere far away, long ago, where things like this could be said to each other. Antonio took a deep breath before continuing. "Well, that was why I left. Because when I was around you, I could not stop the feelings that engulfed me. They screamed at me, overtook everything, blocked out all sense of what was appropriate and…" Antonio closed his eyes, furrowed his forehead, took a draw on his cigarette. "I shouldn't be saying this."

Oh no. He couldn't stop there, not when Lovino was on the edge like this; his heart thumping, his head hazy, his knees weakening… "What feelings?" Lovino asked it softly, scared of the answer. "What do you mean?"

Antonio opened his eyes. They were so much darker in the moonlight. "I'm not one to play games about things like this, so I'll be honest with you. You have a right to know. I have... feelings for you, Lovino. I always have. I wondered if going away would change anything. But of course it didn't."

Lovino clutched onto the brick behind him, sweat rising across his skin. This conversation was heading somewhere he was not sure he wanted to follow. "Feelings?

"Yes. Very strong feelings. Romantic feelings."

Lovino gasped and looked away. He did not expect this. He felt like he would fall over any moment. "You mean… like the way a man feels about a woman?"

Antonio spoke slowly. "Something like that. But men can feel that way about men, as well."

Now Lovino's heart felt like it was being squeezed, his entire world turning upside down. "People say that is wrong."

"People are afraid of what they do not understand."

"So why… if its not wrong… why did you leave then?"

Antonio took another shaking breath through his teeth. "You were fifteen, Lovino. Even now you're still…" Antonio broke off and sighed in frustration. "Even now I should not be saying this, I'm still so out of line. But I could not stay away any longer. Every night for the last three years I have thought of you. And seeing you now… my God, but how much I missed you, it's... it's stunning."

Lovino shook his head, everything unreal and far away. He could not comprehend it. That anyone could say these things about him, could feel this way about him... No one ever said things like that about him. Hell, no one even liked him. Antonio must be confused; he could not mean this. This must be a mistake, Lovino must be misunderstanding... He stood still, the night silent around him, the forgotten cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"I'm not asking you for anything, Lovino. It's just, as I said… you have a right to know."

Lovino was beyond stunned. He was simply numb. "I… I don't…" Lovino spoke not to himself, not to Antonio, but just because he could not stop the words spilling from his lips. "I don't know what I'm supposed to…"

"No," said Antonio quickly, severely. "You're not supposed to do anything."

Breathing through the silence, Lovino finally looked up at Antonio: his green eyes so dark in the moonlight, his always cheerful, passionate face so like the image imprinted on Lovino's memory. He wondered exactly what Antonio's words meant. What possibilities were there, what it could all mean... and suddenly he couldn't breathe. "Oh." Lovino gulped for air, dropped the cigarette stub, turned away... He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself, and said it again, unable to stop. "Oh... oh..."

"_Mierda."_ Antonio was suddenly right beside him, his face twisted in distress. When Antonio's hand almost brushed his Lovino nearly shouted. He reached out to hold onto him, to push him away, he didn't even know, and then he just settled for sinking to the ground. Antonio followed him, speaking quickly. "Forget it, Lovino, it was nothing. It never happened, all right? We'll just pretend that it never happened, and I never said those things, all right?"

Lovino shook his head, then paused, then nodded, the whole time refusing to look at Antonio. He tried to calm down by thinking how stupid was he being, what a fool he was making himself, how ridiculous Antonio must think him. Why did he always overreact like this? Everyone thought Feliciano was silly and high-strung, but Lovino was just as bad. He was at least grateful that it was probably too dark for Antonio to see his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Do you want me to go away?"

Lovino looked up as Antonio asked the question slowly, reluctantly. And he realised... no. No, he didn't. Because out here, alone, in the middle of the night, it still felt like another time and place. So maybe it was all right to let his guard down for just a moment. "No."

Antonio sat back slowly against the wall. Lovino covered his face with his hand, ashamed, but Antonio smiled at him. Lovino ran his hand over his eyes, looked up at the stars and the bright, nearly full moon. Everything felt so different here.

"You are so beautiful in the moonlight." Antonio said the words so softly that Lovino was sure he was not meant to hear them. He scowled and kept his gaze up at the sky.

"Don't say such stupid lies."

"It's not a lie, Lovino. You really are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…" Antonio gave a short, quiet laugh, almost a sigh. "In all my life."

.

It was the first Resistenza meeting since Antonio had returned, and the cantina was full. Feliciano sat drawing in the corner and Lovino sat on the table beside him, swinging his legs nervously as the meeting got well underway. But Lovino barely spared a glance for his Grandpa as Roma gave the usual speech about recent activities and constant vigilance. Instead, Lovino's eyes were fixed on Antonio. The night before felt like a dream. Lovino was not even sure it had happened. Surely that could not be real. Surely Antonio could not actually think those things about Lovino, could not feel that way for him. Antonio was a stupid bastard, sure, but no one was _that_ stupid. Lovino chose to believe he had imagined most of it, and misunderstood the rest. Because that was easier to deal with.

It took Lovino a few moments to realise that Antonio was staring right back at him. And smiling. Lovino turned bright red and concentrated on the picture Feliciano was drawing beside him. With his thoughts running wild and swift through his head and his nerves overtaking him, Lovino could hardly pay attention to the meeting until he realised Antonio was speaking.

"The Germans have been using a few different supply routes, but none so important as this. This railroad is their most direct link to Austria and is being used to transport vital supplies to bases..."

Lovino tilted his head to the side, bit his lip, and completely lost concentration once again. There was something different about Antonio when he spoke like this. Something exciting and passionate and confusing and just so... appealing. Everyone in the room sat hanging off his every word.

"Our objective is simple. If they lose this rail line, we delay the Germans by months. This line must be destroyed."

The room erupted in quiet words and murmurs. "We've never attempted anything like this before," said one of the men.

"No. But the situation has never been so serious. This is just the start. From here, our attacks against the Germans are going to increase... as is the danger."

A thrill ran across Lovino's skin at the words. And yet he was surprised by just how much those words worried him. Because this was what Antonio did, all the time, and Lovino started to realise how dangerous that actually was. And how much it scared him.

Over the next few days Antonio quickly became a part of their lives once again. It was just as Lovino remembered. Antonio coming and going constantly, giving them silly presents and trinkets, staying for dinner after speaking privately with Grandpa Roma. Lovino was learning Antonio all over again, and trying desperately not to fall into this painful want and longing. But it was so hard when Antonio smiled at him like that, when he gazed at him from across the room, when all Lovino could think of was those words he had spoken in the garden, that life shattering confession. When he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was some way that confession could become something more. But Antonio had left before, and he would leave again, or he would finally realise just what Lovino was really like and that he had made a huge mistake in these silly, misguided feelings for him.

The evening before the mission, Antonio and Grandpa Roma spoke in the front room until well into the evening. Feliciano was already in bed, but Lovino sat waiting in the kitchen, sick with anticipation, scared and unsure, his stomach twisting nervously and his head pounding... Eventually, unable to stand it, Lovino jumped up and stormed into the room. Antonio and Roma both looked up in surprise. "I want to go with you."

Antonio smiled, but Roma frowned and shook his head. "No. It is too dangerous."

Lovino burned immediately with frustrated anger. Not only was Roma still treating him like a child, he was doing it in front of Antonio. Lovino glared at him, his hands in fists. "I know what I'm doing, Grandpa, I…"

"Lovino, we are not having this conversation now. The answer is no. Besides…"

"I don't have to do any fighting," Lovino pressed on desperately. "Surely you need someone to drive the car or something…"

"The plans are already made, and we have no room for one more."

"But just listen to me…"

"NO, Lovino!" Roma looked at him as though he was a nuisance, a naughty child, and Lovino's eyesight blurred with rage. His pulse hammered in his head. He clenched his teeth and his fists, furious and humiliated. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, then glared at Roma defiantly.

"I could go join the army tomorrow if I wanted, you know. I bet they wouldn't think I was too young."

Roma just looked exasperated. "Don't say such stupid things, Lovino."

"It's not stupid, it's the truth!" Then angrily, unthinking, wanting to hurt and anger Roma, Lovino shouted, "How would you like it if I went and joined the fascists? I'm sure I'd have more freedom with them than I do in this household!"

Roma reacted immediately. He slammed his fist on the table before standing, furious, and taking an angry step towards Lovino. Then suddenly, shockingly, Antonio stood and moved between them. Everyone stopped. There was a heavy, silent pause as they registered what just happened. Even Antonio looked surprised as Lovino stared at him wide-eyed, Roma glaring with an expression of confusion and anger. And then Antonio laughed.

"If it's action you want, Lovino, I don't suggest joining the Italian army. I believe they recruit based on how fast you can run away with a battle raging at your back. Sadly different from the days of the Great War, Roma, no? Which reminds me, I've been wanting to ask about your famous evasion technique before the sixth battle of the Isonzo. I've been thinking of how we could use this brilliant move in a smaller setting. I'm sure you have some ideas."

Roma narrowed his eyes, flicked them quickly between Antonio and Lovino. But Antonio just kept smiling easily, and eventually Roma nodded slightly and took a step back. "It is interesting you should mention that. Run along, Lovino."

Still furious, but now also confused and irritated and very strangely, slightly flattered, Lovino raced out of the room, through the kitchen, and into the garden. He felt like screaming. Instead he walked to the wall, kicked it, then spun around and leant back heavily against it. What the hell had just happened? Why had Antonio moved between him and Roma like that, almost as if trying to... protect him? That was ridiculous, he didn't need protection from his Grandpa. But then Antonio seemed to have done it unthinkingly, automatically. Lovino put his hands to his head as though trying to prevent it exploding. He could not deal with this. He was never good at handling his emotions, but whenever Antonio was around it just became a thousand times more confusing. Did Antonio even know what he did to Lovino? If he did, would he stop? And more importantly - would Lovino want him to?

Closing his eyes, Lovino felt his skin cool in the slight evening breeze, his pulse start to slow and even. He refused to admit to himself what he was waiting for. But his stomach twinged nervously, his head spinning in anticipation of something he could not quite grasp.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps approached and Lovino opened his eyes to see Antonio smiling down at him. Lovino's pulse raced again, but he just frowned back. "Well. I supposed I had better ask you to be careful tomorrow."

"I will."

"And I'll… I will see you after the mission."

"Yes." Antonio's eyes shone in the moonlight and he laughed softly. "Please don't go and join the army in the meantime." Lovino glared and opened his mouth to answer, but bit back the words and looked at the ground. "Did you want to say something?" asked Antonio cheerfully.

"No!"

"Well all right, then. Goodbye, Lovino." Antonio turned to leave, and Lovino's chest crowded with panic and doubt.

"Wait, Antonio, I…" Antonio looked back slowly, hopefully. Lovino fought to return his gaze. Damn, this was so hard. "I've been thinking about your words. Here, in the garden, last time. When you told me…" But he couldn't finish the sentence.

"I remember," said Antonio softly.

"Well… that's all. I've just… been thinking about them."

Antonio smiled. "All right."

Lovino scowled at Antonio, afraid of how he might interpret the words. "That doesn't mean anything, you know, it doesn't mean that I…" And Lovino had dug himself into a hole. What a stupid thing to say... He frowned bitterly and folded his arms violently. "You can go now."

Antonio laughed again, his face so handsome and carefree in the soft light. Then he reached out for Lovino's hand and lifted it slowly. Lovino felt the touch shoot through every part of him, felt it fire through his head and burn through his veins and stop his breath. He tried to pull his hand back; he could not make himself do it. This was the first time Antonio had touched him since he had arrived back... the first time in three years. And then the whole world spun around when Antonio lifted Lovino's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, smiling down with sparkling eyes. "_Adios, mi corazón._"

Lovino could only scowl and snatch back his hand. He did not know what else to do. Antonio laughed, nodded, and strolled out the back gate, whistling as he went. As soon as he was gone, Lovino gasped for breath, an unwanted smile spreading uncontrollably across his face. His head felt light with giddiness and he almost glided up the house, laughter close to bubbling over, all anger and embarrassment gone in the uncontainable happiness of this moment. He went to walk through the back door, only to stop short, abruptly, the smile falling immediately from his lips. Grandpa Roma stared down at him in the doorway, his expression dark.

"Grandpa."

Roma's darkened eyes flicked over to the back gate, then back to Lovino. "Lovino, you are never to be alone with Antonio, do you understand me?"

Lovino bit back a gasp, then tried to look confused. "But Grandpa, what..."

Roma nearly yelled the words. "Do you understand me?"

Lovino choked off a protest and simply nodded, his eyes on the ground, his heart falling to his feet. "Yes, Grandpa."

"Good boy. Now go to bed."

Anger. Humiliation. Futile frustration. Lovino nodded again. "Yes, Grandpa."

.

"It was unexpected. A small group of station guards. They were just as surprised as we were. We took them down but lost some of our own, and we had to escape immediately..."

Lovino had come early to the cantina to meet Grandpa Roma and hear the results of the previous night's mission. He hadn't been quite sure what to expect. A quiet debriefing, an empty room, wild celebrations like last time maybe. Instead he stood listening as Roma explained what had gone wrong, why they had failed. But Lovino didn't need to know all this. Why Grandpa Roma's shirt was red with blood, why the members of the mission looked worn and dead-eyed, why extra patrols had been placed around the streets outside, why people sat in the corners staring blankly and angrily. He only needed to know one thing.

"Antonio," he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "How is Antonio?"

Lovino pretended not to notice the quick, sharp glance Roma shot him. He just stared at the wall, waiting for the answer. "The bullet only grazed his side. It was deep enough, however. He has lost a lot of blood."

A sickening hot shudder ran down Lovino's spine. The air turned thick and slow around him, his head caught in a hazy place where everything was too dark and too fast. "Where is he?" he finally managed to choke out, his throat dry.

Roma did not answer. After a long pause, one of the members said, "The side room there has become our little hospital."

Lovino did not wait to hear anymore. Too lost in his terrifying emotions to think about what he was doing, he ran across the room to the side door, ignoring the shout that came after him.

"Wait, he's sleeping…"

Lovino did not stop. He threw open the door, then immediately recoiled at the smell of blood that hit him. Antonio lay on a red stained mattress, his eyes closed, his face white, his chest rising and falling evenly. Bloody bandages wrapped around his body and littered the ground; metallic bowls and instruments sat upon the centre table. Lovino's body was stone; his head was fire. A horrified fear rolled in his stomach as a hundred awful, unbearable thoughts attacked him. What if this was it? What if Antonio died? What if Lovino had only realised how he felt just in time to lose everything… What would he do, what could he do, oh God, what was he supposed to do! He was terrified, panicking, and all he wanted was to scream.

"He's going to be all right, Lovino." Lovino did not turn at the sound of Grandpa Roma speaking just behind him. He kept his eyes on Antonio, on his pale, sleeping face, on his bloodied side. "He is wounded, yes, but he will survive."

Lovino felt dizzy, sick. The walls closed in on him - his breath too fast, his pulse hot and pounding - and it was all too much. He had to get out. He turned and ran through the room, unheeding of the looks shot his way. He ignored Roma calling behind him.

His feet pounded on the hard stones and it was all still so unreal, so heavy and strange and stifling, but more than anything it was terrifying. This crawling, spinning, horrified fear that crowded his mind, shook his body, suffocated his lungs. He could not stand this fear. Lovino reached the end of the street before the rolling nausea in his stomach rose and overcame him. He fell against the wall, steadied himself with a hand against the cold stone, then bent over and vomited onto the pavement.

Lovino could not deal with this. It was not worth it. Nothing was worth this feeling - of caring so much about someone that the very idea of them leaving or dying left him a frantic mess, sick and shaking and burning and freezing, with this feeling that his chest was going to rip apart and darkness was going to engulf him and he was going to collapse and scream and break into a million pieces.

The realisation was sudden, stunning. If he loved Antonio, he would have so much to lose. And one day, he would. Because what Antonio did was too dangerous. One day Lovino would be destroyed... and he could not endure it. He could not endure any more of this. Lovino wiped his mouth and stumbled down the street, ignoring the concerned and disgusted looks of the few passersby. And he came to the decision. It would be easier to close off his heart now, to stop this silly little infatuation before it went any further. And besides, look at him – a broken mess, a pathetic coward, a worthless, powerless, friendless weakling who was still treated like a child. He would be doing poor, deluded Antonio a favour, too.

Lovino refused to return to the cantina over the following days. Instead he spent his time at home, sometimes venturing to the village market with Feliciano. He knew Grandpa Roma was starting to worry about him, but Lovino easily ignored him. He did not ask about Antonio, though he burned to know; luckily Feliciano solved that problem with his constant, insistent questions about Antonio's well being. Lovino was desperately relieved to hear that Antonio was doing even better than expected, though he never asked or acted like he was the slightest bit interested. Roma continued organising missions, but Lovino no longer asked to go… he could not handle seeing Antonio. And always there was this voice inside of him; a tiny, stupid, insistent voice that told him how stupid he was being, how selfish, how completely idiotic… a voice that knew he was lying to himself.

Lovino tried to convince himself that if he did not see Antonio, then these feelings would all go away, and everything would go back to normal. But even as he thought it he knew that could never happen. And of course he could not avoid Antonio forever. So when he walked into the kitchen one afternoon and overheard Antonio speaking with Grandpa Roma in the front room, everything he had tried so hard to suppress came flooding back, engulfing him, pouring through every part of him.

"This was merely a setback. We will see many such hindrances in the coming months. What matters is how quickly we fight back, how soon we can get on our feet. A few lives mean nothing to the fascists… we can not afford to let them mean more to us."

Until recently, Lovino would have listened avidly. But today he fled the sound of Antonio's voice, ran into the sunny garden, hid himself in a far corner behind a bed of sage and rosemary. It was childish, he knew, and it was foolish. And yet, it was all he could think to do.

This should not change anything, Lovino tried to tell himself. He was still uninterested in Antonio. He still didn't care. It still wasn't worth it. Oh God, he was still lying. No matter how he tried to change it, every thought he'd had for weeks now, all the avoiding and waiting and ignoring, had all been tied to one man, to one desire, to one fear. And when Antonio walked out the back door and into the garden, Lovino felt his resolve strengthen, weaken, fall away, disappear. The early summer sun shone down, bright and hot, forcing Lovino's inadequate hiding spot into blazing view. Antonio simply walked over to him, smiled down in a way Lovino could not bear to see.

"I've missed you this last week."

Lovino did not respond. He looked away from that smile, rested his arms on his knees, fidgeted with a sprig of rosemary.

Antonio left a silence for Lovino to respond, before filling it himself. "Are you well?"

Lovino nodded. He knew he should be the one asking Antonio that. But he didn't - he couldn't. Even as the relief of seeing Antonio standing healthy and well before him turned his body weak, Lovino could not possibly say the words. Antonio waited in silence for a few seconds that began to feel like hours, until Lovino blurted out, "Grandpa told us you were fine. Feliciano was worried."

"Was he?" Antonio's voice was almost amused. "Were you?"

Lovino could barely stand this pressure. Why couldn't Antonio leave him alone, why did he have to stand here smiling and asking these questions Lovino had no way of answering... What did Antonio expect? What did he want? Lovino felt sweat start to rise on his neck. He had to leave before he lost control and screamed. "I am glad you are well." He scrambled to his feet. "I have to go now."

"Lovino, wait."

Why did he have no choice but to stop… why did he have no choice but to wait for Antonio to continue?

"They told me you came by the cantina. When I was injured."

Lovino gritted his teeth, fixed his eyes on the kitchen door across the garden. "Yes."

Antonio stepped towards him. Lovino's breath came faster, even as he jerked his head away. "I was happy to hear that you… that you were concerned."

"I was worried for the cause." Lovino said it too quickly.

"Of course." Antonio said it too easily.

Lovino put his hands in his pockets and twisted his foot into the ground. This conversation was so difficult. He did not know what to say, what Antonio wanted him to say, what he himself wanted to say. He finally forced himself to bring his gaze back to Antonio, but the look in Antonio's eyes brought back too many memories. Of words said years ago… _Maybe you'll understand one day_… Of ones spoken only weeks ago... _I have... feelings for you, Lovino_… The memory sent an excited, yearning flutter through Lovino's veins. He felt so close to giving in… But there was nothing there to fall into. Lovino could not feel this, could not accept it. He had to stop this now. Lovino closed his eyes and breathed out all his useless hopes, his broken desires. Then he opened them, and spoke.

"Do you remember, Antonio… the first night after you came back. Our conversation in this garden. The words you said to me."

"Yes." Antonio's expression was almost hopeful. But that hurt too much, so Lovino looked away.

"Well I just... I just… I want you to know that… I…" Oh God he was going to say this… He tried to convince himself that he was doing this as much for Antonio as himself. "I do not have those feelings for you."

Antonio blinked in surprise. "Oh." He narrowed his eyes in confusion, his expression uncertain. "But Lovino…"

"You need to know that." This was better for him, better for Antonio, better for everyone...

"I am sorry, but somehow, I was starting to think…"

"No!" Lovino could not let Antonio weaken his resolve. "Look, it's easy to understand. I don't feel anything for you. I never will. So stop this. Stop staring at me, and stop giving me things, and stop calling me your '_corazón'_ because I know what that means!" Lovino almost tripped over the words. This hurt so much… hurt so much to say these things, to see the look on Antonio's face, but Lovino tried to convince himself it would hurt more to admit the truth, so he just kept going. "I'm not like you, Antonio. I don't feel anything for you, because it's not normal and frankly… frankly it's quite disgusting as well."

Lovino could see the words hit Antonio. He flinched briefly, his face turning white and his eyes dropping to the ground. "Oh. I see."

"You expect too much. And you wear your feelings too plainly. So I… I am…" Lovino faltered but quickly pressed on. "I am asking you to hide them."

Antonio nodded, his hands in fists and his jaw clenched. Then he gave a little sigh, a shrug, and smiled at Lovino. "I will try, Lovino. I will endeavour to behave more appropriately in future." Lovino blinked rapidly, breathed through the rising tears and the crushing in his chest, and felt Antonio's bright gaze and smile like a knife. Antonio inclined his head slightly. His accent grew stronger as he spoke. "I apologise for any distress I have caused you. It was unforgivable of me. And I also apologise for mistaking my own selfish desires for reality." Antonio turned on his heel, and Lovino had to fight back a sob, had to stop himself from reaching out to stop him. Antonio paused briefly at the back gate. "But Lovino. I will never apologise for loving you."

When Antonio walked out the gate Lovino sank down against the wall, put his head in his hands, and finally let the tears break. He tried to convince himself this was right, that he was shielding his heart, that he was protecting himself from pain. But he couldn't stop the thought that screamed at him stupidly, insistently. How could anything possibly hurt more than this?

.

_Christmas, 1934  
>A village in Germany<em>

_._

_"So, Antonio, what happens if this one person of yours decides they don't feel the same way about you?"_

_Gilbert groaned loudly. "Are we really talking about this again?"_

_"Oh hush, drink your glue wine."_

_"GLUEHWEIN!" Gilbert shouted before taking another deep swig of the liquid. The table before them was covered with empty plates and half filled bottles and crumpled coloured paper, the last remnants of a truly magnificent Christmas dinner. No one did Christmas like the Germans._

_"Well," said Antonio, trying to think of a way to respond to Francis' question. "That is the risk, isn't it? You can not stop yourself from loving someone, and you can not control how that person feels. If they do not love you…" Antonio shrugged. "They do not love you."_

_Francis looked appalled. "But how terribly depressing! You are trying to say that you fall in love just once, and if that person does not love you, then there goes the only chance you get?"_

_"It is unfair, isn't it. But what can you do?"_

_"What you can do is spend a week weeping over them - eating too much, drinking too much, having filthy, dirty, fabulous sex with strangers - and then forget them forever."_

_Gilbert waved his glass before Antonio's face. "No, what you can do is spread rumours that'll follow them forever, so the little shit never forgets they messed with the wrong guy."_

_Antonio rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about loving someone in expectation of anything in return. I'm talking about loving someone because of who they are. Because of the way they talk, they smile, they fight; because of what they say and what they believe; because of all the wonderful, annoying, beautiful, frustrating, stupid, lovely, embarrassing things they do and they are. Because they are the one person in all the world who makes you finally understand how perfectly, intricately amazing a human being can be. And if they do not love me it changes nothing, because I will not love them so they love me, I will love them because I have no other choice."_

_"Antonio." Gilbert shook his head and sighed in frustration. "You are one stupid, melodramatic bastard."_

_Antonio flashed him a wild grin. "But come on. With lines like that, no one is gonna be able to resist me for long."_

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>

* * *

><p><em>*Bonne chance - (French) - Good luck<br>__Cuidate - (Spanish) - Be careful  
><em>_Viel Spass - (German) - Have fun_

_**Mi corazón - Literally, 'my heart'. A term of endearment, like 'my love.'_


	4. Chapter 4

_Just to quickly clarify the timeline. This chapter takes place in Autumn, 1943, just a few months before the events of 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart' begin. From this point the big time skips between chapters will stop._

* * *

><p><em>The Guitar: (YouTube)watch?v=ORGQ9df3ZbY_

_The Dance: (YouTube)/watch?v=c9V64EPA4NU_

* * *

><p><em>Autumn, 1943<br>Italy_

.

Antonio was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no possible way that something this wonderful, something this beautiful, something he had yearned for and craved and desired for so long could possibly be happening like this, could possibly be here in his arms.

It felt again like that long ago afternoon in his rented rooms opposite the revolutionary cantina. The world was small, silent, still; and only one person existed in it. Lovino – lovely, complicated, stunning, frustrating, perfect Lovino. Lovino, holding to Antonio's arms with light, steady hands, pressing against him with uncertain force, his eyes too dark and his breath too fast. Antonio wanted him. Antonio burned for him. For the guilty touch of his skin, for the scent of his hair, for the press of his hips and the darkness in his eyes. But no, this was not right, and Lovino did not understand; but he was so beautiful, so warm and soft and breathless, so goddamned bright and dark and alluring and Antonio did not know if he was strong enough to stop this…

But this wasn't four years ago. Because when Lovino looked up at Antonio through dark, heavy lashes, instead of the lovely fifteen year old boy of that blazing afternoon, his flushed face was that of the handsome, still complicated, still frustrating, still perfect young man whom Antonio still burned for. So this time, when Lovino moaned, Antonio did not push him away. Because if this was a dream, then it was all right to give in and let go and damn the consequences. And if it was not… oh, if it was not...

And so, Antonio gave in. He pulled Lovino against him, grasped his narrow hips and crushed them to his own. Lovino threw his head back and his moan became a word. "Antonio…" Antonio couldn't be dreaming, because this was too real, this was too perfect. He felt every touch of Lovino like an electric current, lost himself in this pulsing, building, burning need... Lovino's hair, Lovino's lips, his skin, his breath, his hands, his neck, Lovino's dark, dark eyes…

But Antonio woke the way he always did. With a racing heart and panting breath, with throbbing release and sweat-drenched sheets. With a groan of disappointment that, yet again, it had only been a dream. He lay sprawled in the tiny bed, limbs limp and languid; the last tingling pulses of pleasure fading slowly from his feverish skin. He blinked his eyes into focus and his heaving chest started to slow as early sunlight broke through the curtains and brightened the dull, dirty rented room.

Antonio ran a hand through his unwashed, sweat-soaked hair and, despite himself, felt rising laughter bubble up in his chest as he glanced down at the wet sheets tangled around his thighs. Anyone would think he was still a teenager. He giggled softly and jumped to his feet, raced to throw open the curtains and smile cheerfully out at the golden Italian morning. Today was a beautiful day. Because today, Antonio was heading south. And south meant one thing.

_Lovino._

.

Lovino sat against the garden wall, strumming his guitar absently, humming to himself as a light, golden rain of dark autumn leaves drifted into the garden. Feliciano had left earlier for the market and Lovino was not sure where Grandpa Roma had gone. Grandpa was always unusually sombre at this time of year, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time – it wasn't until a few years ago that Lovino had learnt this was the season his mother and grandmother had died. So here Lovino sat, alone in the garden - something he was used to by now – alone. Alone with his thoughts and his fears and his memories. All of them turning eventually, inevitably, towards the same old obsession.

It had been over a year since Lovino's lie; a year since his fake, heart-crushing, life-changing declaration to Antonio. A year of increasing German presence in the village, of escalating counterattacks, of bombs and executions and suspicions. A year in which Lovino threw himself into the Resistenza, as much as he was allowed; accompanying Grandpa Roma on every mission he could, listening intently at every meeting, watching over and trying to look after Feliciano. A year of Antonio coming and going, spending a few days in town at the rooms opposite the cantina, staying just long enough to give what information he knew and perhaps organise a bombing or a diversion. Just long enough to tear at Lovino's heart, to bring the grief to the surface once again. And yet, Lovino kept stubbornly telling himself the same thing. This little pain he felt was nothing to the pain he would feel if he gave in, nothing to the trouble it would cause between him and Grandpa Roma. And though if Antonio died tomorrow it would still break Lovino, it was nothing to the devastation he would feel if he allowed himself to love him, to know everything they might be, to feel all that he had to lose. No. This pain was preferable.

But still, Antonio watched Lovino. Still smiled at him, still asked him polite questions carefully; how he was, how he was handling the increasing danger, how he was going with his guitar. Antonio's face still lit up when Lovino entered the room; he still said Lovino's name differently. Still, after all these years, Antonio confused Lovino, and still, he could not understand this. How could Antonio be so kind when Lovino was only horrible to him? What could Antonio possibly see in him? How long would this all go on? And why did Lovino not want it to end? Lovino barely remembered what life had been like before the war, before life was only about sabotaging German soldiers and waiting for Antonio.

Lovino continued strumming his guitar, watching his fingers slide over the strings, hearing his vague humming turn slowly to words. Lovino would not sing for anyone. But sometimes he caught himself singing alone, and before he knew it, Lovino realised he was playing and singing the song he had first heard from Antonio years ago. He sang the words softly, quietly, as though even in this empty garden he feared someone might overhear and ridicule him.

"_Dearest one, if you should leave me,  
>Each little dream would take wing and my life would be through.<br>Bésame mucho, love me forever and make all my dreams come true."_

Lovino lost himself in the words and the memories, smiled in his quiet reverie, looked up, and for a moment he was certain he was dreaming. Because Antonio was standing before him. Standing calm and easy, leaves flying in the wind around him, smiling kindly, his twinkling eyes as green as the grass - the very image from Lovino's memory of the moment he had first left, all those years ago. Lovino fell silent, stopped playing, and just stared up at him. Moments passed in silence, until eventually Antonio spoke. "You sing so beautifully, Lovino! You put me to shame."

Lovino pushed his hair behind his ear in a nervous, embarrassed gesture. Antonio had only been gone a few weeks, and Lovino was thrown off by his sudden appearance. "Don't lie."

Antonio's eyes softened. "I would never lie to you, Lovino."

Lovino felt a flare of guilt at the words, at the memory of his own agonising lie. "You're back again." It was a pointless thing to say, but what else was there?

"Yes." Antonio looked pointedly at the ground beside Lovino. "May I?"

Lovino nodded, and Antonio sat. Lovino turned his head as he leant it against the wall, looking up at Antonio. And they just looked at each other. And it did not feel uncomfortable, or strange, or wrong, to just gaze into those green eyes. Lovino's heart sped up like it always did, but he did not feel the old frightening, dizzying rush. Just a quiet swelling, an almost comforting beat, as warm and gentle as the leaves dancing in the wind. It felt like relief - like he had been waiting for something for so long that had finally arrived. But in the end, that's exactly what this was. Lovino caught himself before he returned Antonio's smile, and looked down at his guitar. "Grandpa is not home."

"I will wait. If that is all right."

Lovino nodded and ran his hands over his guitar. The silence went too long, until he felt he had to fill it. "Feliciano is at the market."

"Oh, is he?"

Lovino nodded again. Such an unimportant, meaningless conversation, and yet this was the least lonely Lovino had felt in weeks. Lovino did not usually sit beside Antonio so calmly, but he was too filled with relief and quiet happiness to even try to snap, or fight, or scowl. Maybe he was growing tired of it. And already, he did not want Antonio to leave. "Maybe you can stay for dinner tonight." Damn it, he hadn't meant to actually say that. And did Antonio's breath just catch? He immediately covered it with a laugh.

"Lovino!" he cried delightedly. "How good of you to ask! I would love to stay!"

"Don't go getting excited, bastard," Lovino grumbled, frustrated, even as his heart sped up. "I'm just sure that Grandpa will want to speak to you."

"Well, of course!"

Oh, Lovino hated that – the way Antonio agreed with him in that cheerful, flippant manner. He hated the way those words fired through his veins, the way that laugh twisted his stomach. He hated how he still could not control the effect Antonio had on him. "So," he said distantly, trying to sound as though he did not care. "How long will you stay this time?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

Lovino's cheeks burned and his spine tingled. And Antonio just sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Oh," said Lovino, flustered and trying to hide it. "Do you have important things to do elsewhere?"

"I have important things to do everywhere. Including here. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Lovino's gaze finally shot up at that, but Antonio just smiled. That smile that caused everything, that flooded him with unbearable emotion; fear and confusion, want and desire. That dazzling smile that became harder and harder to bear with every one of Antonio's visits. "Have you been well?" Lovino nodded, silently. Antonio always carried their conversation in the silence. "I am sorry I just missed your birthday. To think you are twenty years old!" Antonio sighed dramatically. "The years turn faster and faster."

They did. Lovino breathed out sharply, a soft sound of amusement. The world moving on around them and yet always this feeling the same, this unmoving, unspoken something between them. This something that Lovino could not change, and did not know if he wanted to. "Where have you been these last months?"

Antonio leant down towards Lovino, wagged his eyebrows, and whispered theatrically. "To faraway kingdoms and magical lands!"

Lovino scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't tell me. It's not like I care, you know."

Antonio frowned and sat heavily back against the wall. "Oh, you're no fun. To France, if you must know. Not nearly as interesting, is it?"

Lovino felt immediately indignant, hurt, his cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassed anger. _No fun…_ He felt some of the calm drain away, replaced by old, familiar, offended fury. "So, I'm boring, is that what you mean?"

Antonio turned his head sharply and blinked perplexedly. "I'm sorry?"

Of course he was boring, of course Antonio had no time for him, of course he was no fun… "I'm no fun, so I'm just boring. This must be so terribly uninteresting having to talk to me. Well, if I'm so dull then you can... What are you laughing at, bastard?"

Antonio's familiar laugh was as deep and passionate as ever. "Oh, Lovino, you are many things, but boring is most assuredly not one of them. In fact I'm always waiting to see how you will react. And just when I think I've got you figured out, then snap!" Antonio clicked his fingers and winked. "You go and surprise me."

Lovino glared and opened his mouth, but he could not respond to those words, to the playful way Antonio said them. So he breathed out heavily and looked down. "Shut up."

There was a brief silence, as Antonio actually seemed to follow Lovino's sulky order for once. It did not last long, however. "I was in France for personal reasons this time."

That caught Lovino's attention and he sat up straighter, slightly concerned. "Oh. Personal?"

"Yes." Antonio's eyes glinted, his broad smile dwindled to just a tiny smirk on his lips. "I'm marrying a lovely French girl, didn't you hear?"

A sudden roar rushed through Lovino's ears. His cheeks turned cold as the blood drained from his face. He could not even think about hiding his reaction, too stunned, too shocked, too overcome. His limbs turned rigid; his throat choked closed. He could only stare blindly, frozen, horrified. The air turned hazy and hot and stifling as the world crashed, fell, broke around him…

"...vino... Lovino! Lovino, I'm joking, breathe." Lovino could hear again, and Antonio's anxious words broke through the haze. He could see again, and Antonio appeared before him, concerned, waving his hand before Lovino's face. "I was only joking, Lovino, there's no French girl, I'm not really getting married…"

Lovino took a deep gasping breath. Oh God, how embarrassing, how stupid… "It's not like I care!" he practically shouted, then looked immediately down at his guitar, twisting his hands together, mortified. "I was just... just surprised that anyone would want to marry you, bastard." Lovino took another deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. Thankfully, Antonio did not laugh. In fact, he just continued as though nothing had happened.

"I'm actually trying to track down an old French friend of mine. His name is Francis. I used to spend a few weeks every season with him and another friend of ours, Gilbert. A German." Antonio chuckled softly. "But he wouldn't like me saying that. He always considered himself Prussian." Lovino listened silently, taking the time to steady his heart and compose himself as Antonio spoke breezily, avoiding Lovino's eyes with uncharacteristic tact. "Oh, we had so much fun. Life was beautiful. Summers in the French countryside; cycling through little villages with only bread and wine in our backpacks, sleeping wherever we fell, whether on lavender-infused mountaintops or in little Parisian backstreets. Winters in Germany; drinking schnapps by the fire in Munich beer halls, sledding in the snow on the Swiss border, spending Christmas in Berlin, listening to Gilbert's grandfather's war stories and teasing Gilbert's strict, serious little brother. And Spain." Antonio's green eyes brightened, sparkling in the sunlight as he smiled up at the sky. Lovino was captivated, his embarrassment quickly falling away. "Oh, Lovino. If you could only see Spain in the springtime. There is no more beautiful place in the world. Whether it is in the south - warm days on the golden sand and crowded nights in bustling cantinas; or in the north - vast flower-filled fields and narrow twisting streets that lead to secret, centuries-old hideaways. And always, just the three of us. Making memories to last a lifetime."

Lovino found himself transfixed as always by Antonio's words, by the joy and passion in his face. Lovino could almost see what he described; almost feel his joy. "One summer," said Antonio, his smile as far-away as his sparkling green eyes, "I think it was 1935 – we decided to try and go as far away as we could possibly manage. I believe the goal was New Zealand. We got as far as Egypt."

Lovino almost gasped, but held it back. He tried not to sound as astonished as he felt. "You've been to Egypt?"

"Oh, yes," grinned Antonio. "Gilbert was convinced he could solve the very mysteries of the universe by attuning himself to the mystical energies of the great pyramids."

"Oh," said Lovino, unsure what that even meant. "And, uh… did he?"

"No." Antonio snorted in amusement. "But he did get a broken nose in Cairo after an argument with an antiquities dealer. After escaping a gang of scimitar-armed thugs and dragging Francis from a brothel, we spent the night drinking cheap wine on the steps of the pyramids. And Gilbert reached his great epiphany."

"Which was?" asked Lovino, his gaze fixed on Antonio's vibrant face, fascinated by Antonio's delight in his memories.

Antonio eyes unfocused as he answered. "That the pyramids are nothing but interesting arrangements of rock. And there is no such thing as mystical energy. And that all that matters in life is to drink deep, have fun, and stay alive."

Lovino lowered his head to hide his small smile. "They must mean a lot to you. I've never had any friends like that... or, well, any at all, really."

Antonio looked back down at Lovino, snapping to attention, his eyes focusing again. "Does that upset you?"

"No," said Lovino honestly. "People confuse me."

"People want what is easy." Antonio laughed shortly. "But nothing really worth having comes easily."

Lovino did not know what he meant, but felt hot and strangely breathless, so he reverted to his customary scowl and veered back to the earlier topic. "Well, anyway. Did you find your friend?"

Antonio sighed, his smile falling. "No. He is in the French intelligence, and therefore, very difficult to trace - even for me."

"Why are you trying to find him?"

Antonio shrugged. "I wish to know if he is alive. He is important to me."

"Oh," said Lovino, trying to ignore the prickling wave of jealousy that heated his blood. "So you and he..."

"No. Never." Antonio said it quickly, but then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, unless you count that close call in Pamplona." He whistled. "I still owe Gilbert for that one."

Lovino shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to know any more of that story. "And what about Gilbert? Do you know if he is alive?"

Antonio took a while to answer, his expression slowly growing darker. "No. I don't. Gilbert…" Antonio paused, shook his head shortly, and sighed, a short exhalation of disappointment and regret. "Gilbert joined the German army. He is on the Eastern front now, I believe."

"He's… what? Holy shit!" Lovino was shocked, astounded. "Your friend is a Nazi?"

"No," said Antonio firmly. "No, I did not say that. I said he joined the German army. He would never join that hateful party. He is a misguided fool, yes. But he is a good man." Antonio fixed Lovino's eyes in an earnest stare. "Not every German is a Nazi, Lovino."

Lovino felt almost ashamed. He had never even considered things like this before. When Antonio held an opinion, or stated a fact, he did it so certainly, so fervently. Lovino really did not know all that much about Antonio, even now, almost five years after he had fallen into Lovino's life to turn everything upside down and make this strange, difficult world more complicated than it already was. "Why do you do this?" Lovino asked suddenly. He realised he had never asked. He never knew why Antonio did what he did. "You're not even Italian. Why do you risk so much for Italy?"

Antonio looked at him intently, curiously. "Because of what we are fighting against."

"Germany?"

Antonio's lips twisted in the tiniest smile. "Not Germany."

"Fascism."

Antonio did not answer at first. His smile fell, his eyes darkened, and he looked to be debating something with himself. He leant his head back against the wall and crossed one stretched out leg over the other. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, quieter. "I've always drifted on the wind, Lovino. Of course Spain was always home, but I've travelled everywhere, anywhere I could walk – all over Europe. I loved to just follow the sun. I never stayed anywhere for too long - never had a plan; never had a reason. Never had a purpose. I think that's why I was so happy." Antonio gave a half-hearted chuckle, then closed his eyes. "But that was before."

"Before what?" Lovino felt apprehensive as he asked.

Antonio's forehead furrowed, and his throat moved as he swallowed. He slowly opened his eyes and stared blankly at the rows of herbs and flowers. "April, 1937. I was travelling through Spain. I knew there was civil war, of course, but I never bothered with talk of fascists and republicans, religion and monarchy. None of it meant anything to me. I cared about other things." Antonio's face brightened just slightly. "About the people I met on the road, their homes and stories and cooking. About finding a farm I could work on for a week or two. About pretty girls and boys in cantinas and laughing children who followed me on the streets and danced around my legs for the tomatoes in my backpack. And I found it all in the north, in a place untouched by war, in a lovely Basque town called Guernica."

Lovino's heart jumped as he remembered. "You've mentioned Guernica before. To Grandpa." Antonio nodded. Lovino's stomach felt tied in knots, his muscles tight with tension as he waited. "What happened there, Antonio?"

Antonio swallowed heavily again, and his hands clenched into fists. It was obvious that it still hurt him to remember it. "It was a bright, sunny afternoon - market day, so the streets were full. I was coming out of a tavern, full with wine and laughter, when I heard the first roar. We all looked up and saw planes approaching in the clear sky - a great group of them, heading straight for the town. I did not know what they were, or what was going on, and then… then…" Antonio looked suddenly confused, as if, after all these years, he still could not understand.

"Then everything just… exploded. It was so sudden, I couldn't even think. All I knew was that the world was splitting apart, and there was nothing but red and black and blasting explosions so loud they were beyond deafening. Only the screams were louder. People were running everywhere, but there was nowhere to run. It took me too long to realise that the planes were bombing. I fell into a doorway, watching as buildings exploded into fireballs, as the street shook, as the running, screaming people fell to the ground - bullets." Antonio laughed bitterly. "Can you believe it? The pilots were even firing bullets." Antonio's fists shook slightly. "At first I couldn't feel anything. It was too unreal, too far away. But then it hit me – the worst terror I have ever known. I knew I was going to die, but I could only lie in that doorway and wait. I kept expecting it to end, but it didn't, it just went on and on and on until I couldn't even hear the screams anymore." Antonio's face was twisted in an agonised expression Lovino had never seen before; never wanted to see again. He breathed deeply, and continued.

"But finally it ended. I forced myself to look up, and the sky was clear, but it still took me so long to move. The screams started again. I didn't know where I was going, so I just kept walking. I wanted to help, I tried to help, but there were too many people to help – bleeding, dying, burnt, missing arms, missing legs..." Antonio stopped for a moment, his voice fading to nothing. He closed his widened eyes, took a shaky breath, and continued even softer than before. "The dead littered the flattened, smoking streets. When I made it to the town plaza it was worse. The entire town was destroyed. Black smoke, and fire raging, the smell of burning flesh and everywhere… just everywhere people lay injured, screaming, stunned, dead… so many dead… hundreds…"

Lovino was struck still: his hands, his spine, his eyes. He felt frozen in a horrified daze. He could not begin to understand. "Oh my God. But… why? Were there soldiers there, or…"

"No." Antonio shook his head and gave a mirthless snort. "No. It was an experiment."

Lovino's stomach twisted with cold nausea. "An… experiment?"

"A test for the new fascist German government's air force. To see what their bombers were capable of. To see what it would take to destroy a city. To see how easily they could decimate a civilian population. And it was Spain's fascist leader who allowed this to happen in his own country. Who practically invited them in."

Lovino was shocked, stunned. It was too horrific. How could Antonio have gone through that and still smile so cheerfully, still laugh the way he always did? Lovino did not know what to say. Words like 'I'm sorry' just seemed so empty for something like this. What else had Antonio seen... what else was behind those smiling green eyes?

"I never cared about government," Antonio continued. He did not seem fazed by Lovino's silence. "Never cared about politics, and in a way I suppose I still don't. All I know, is that if I can do anything to stop innocent people dying for nothing... dying for a war not their own… dying for a fucking _experiment_... then I'll do it."

Lovino could not respond. Could not speak. What was there to say to the most noble words he had ever heard? "Oh," said Lovino finally, a chill running across his skin as a cool breeze drifted past. "I never knew... I never..."

"I wish you didn't have to know, Lovino. But that's why I do this. Why I find out what I can from both sides in this war, why I take information from people and use it to prevent whatever bloodshed I am able. It's not much, really. But I never used to have a purpose." Antonio shrugged, then looked down at Lovino with a small smile, his messy brown hair falling across his handsome face. For the first time, Lovino thought he was looking older. "Now I do."

Lovino felt his heart swell and his grudging admiration deepen. He had never really thought about why Antonio put himself in such danger. He'd just always been scared that he did. But of course Antonio knew the risks - he knew, and he did it anyway. Lovino suddenly felt a sort of shame burn his cheeks. Because he knew he could never be that brave. With nothing to say, Lovino instead plucked randomly at the guitar strings. Silent seconds stretched to minutes, and the autumn leaves danced in the wind around them as the quiet, gentle afternoon passed them slowly by. Lovino plucked broken, careless melodies from the guitar, feeling Antonio's eyes on him, feeling Antonio's warmth beside him replace the earlier empty loneliness. Lovino lost track of how much time passed before Antonio spoke again.

"I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable, Lovino."

"No," said Lovino quickly, his neck burning as he stared fixedly down at his fingers strumming his guitar.

"I know it must be difficult for you with me around… knowing how I feel."

Lovino's heart beat faster, a warm, tingling, comforting glow filling his chest, along with that old, familiar, almost painful nervousness that never really went away. "Oh. Still?"

Antonio gave a short, soft laugh that was more of a sigh. "Always, Lovino."

Did Antonio know how Lovino felt? Did Lovino want him to? Of course this was difficult, but Lovino realised he would rather things be difficult with Antonio here than easy with him gone. "I'm sure you have important things to do here," said Lovino, tripping over the words. "You... you should stay. For the cause." Silence. Lovino continued playing his guitar and, before he even realised it, he was drawing the melody of '_Bésame Mucho_' from the strings. Lovino felt his shoulders stiffen and his breath catch, but for some reason he could not fathom or express to himself, he kept going. He played the entire tune, Antonio unmoving beside him, the leaves falling around them, until the last of the notes faded into the wind as it blew softly by. Lovino stared at the guitar in the silence, his neck burning, wondering just what he had been trying to say, if he had said it, and if Antonio had understood. When he finally looked up at Antonio, at those wide green eyes and slightly parted lips, he knew that he had. Lovino quickly looked back down. "So, you should stay as long as you need to."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a slow, tranquil daze of lilting melodies and stolen glances. When Grandpa Roma arrived home, he did not seem too worried to see Antonio and Lovino alone – but then, Lovino figured, no one would know from his behaviour over the last year that he felt anything but indifferent derision towards Antonio. Roma and Antonio disappeared into the front room to talk, but Lovino stayed in the garden until the sky was dark and the stars were out. He walked into the house, past Feliciano cooking dinner and chattering at him inanely, and nudged open the door to the living room. He watched as Antonio said farewell to Roma and headed towards the front door, watched as he smiled and turned and walked away. And Lovino felt such a heartbreaking ache in his chest, that for the first time, he wondered if it would be less painful to give in.

.

Antonio sat at his makeshift desk in the back room of the _Cantina Verde_, absently humming along as the wireless radio beside him blasted the latest popular songs into the room. He had only been back a day, and he was already swamped with work. The Germans had such control over this town lately, but with the Americans set to arrive… Though he tried to concentrate, Antonio found his eyes and his mind wandering from the documents before him, wandering back to the day before in Lovino's garden. He was not sure if telling Lovino his memories of Guernica had been a good idea. He had never bared his soul like that, never wanted to feel the pain that recalling those events inevitably brought. And yet, he had wanted to tell Lovino everything, wanted him to know everything. Antonio was not even sure if that was fair to Lovino, but Lovino had asked why he did this, and Antonio never could be anything but honest with the most important person in his world.

But those images still turned in his mind. The burnt and bleeding and dying whom he could not help. The broken bodies half buried under shattered debris. The survivors who sat dead-eyed and confused, the ones who ran screaming for loved ones. Antonio tried to shake the harrowing memories from his head, to remember why he had tormented himself by bringing them again to the surface. As hard as it had been to speak, however briefly, of events he had spent years suppressing, how could Antonio lie to the one person who meant the world to him? How could he hide any part of himself from Lovino?

Looking back down at the pile of papers on the desk, Antonio wondered briefly who he was trying to fool. He did not need to spend as much time in this village as he did. Roma was perfectly capable of handling this faction of the Resistance on his own. And yet Antonio was always drawn back here, always trying to stay as long as he could, never wanting to leave. Yes, it was a lovely village. Yes, he liked Roma, and he adored little Feliciano. But there was only one real reason why Antonio always, always came back. Antonio startled slightly as the door from the front room opened. He looked up, the dark memories faded, and the room around him brightened. "Lovino!"

Lovino stumbled to a halt, his hand still on the door handle. His eyes widened, his lips parted, and he immediately dropped his gaze. "Oh. I was looking for Grandpa."

Antonio smiled. He never could control his smile when Lovino walked into the room. "He will be back in a few hours."

Lovino nodded, shifted his weight, brushed his hair back. "Okay."

"You can wait." Antonio said it hopefully, though he had little reason to expect that Lovino would actually stay. To his great delight, however, Lovino nodded again.

"Okay." Lovino stood uncertainly for a few moments, then hurried over and swung himself onto a nearby table. Antonio's smile brightened, his chest swelling at the familiar gesture. Lovino never sat on a chair… he always chose a table. He always swung his legs like that, glancing around the room as though he was looking for something, too obvious in trying to avoid Antonio's eyes. He always pushed his hair behind his ear in that same gesture, always looked down at the ground and bit his lip absently, always drummed his fingers on the table edge, glanced up, scowled at Antonio, narrowed his eyes, always said, "What are you looking at, bastard?"

Antonio bit his lip to stop a giggle bursting through. "I'm sorry, Lovino."

Antonio looked back down at the list of Gestapo officers in the area, again humming along to the wireless radio. He felt Lovino's eyes on him, and he wondered if Lovino knew how very transparent he was. Antonio had been so certain the summer before last, when he had finally ended his three year exile, finally stopped lying to himself, finally arrived back here to the place that been calling to him since he had left his beautiful _corazón_ with a smile and a guitar and wrenching, bitter regret. He had been so certain that Lovino had grown to feel the same. But Lovino had dashed Antonio's hopes and dreams to pieces, had told him quite plainly that he would never feel that way. And Antonio had believed him. Had left, had fallen to pieces, had drunk himself senseless and screamed at the stars and punched a hole in a tavern wall. But over the months, as he was forced, compelled, driven, dragged back to this village, things had slowly fallen into place. It had become too plain, too clear; maybe not to anyone else, but Antonio prided himself that he could see parts of Lovino that no one else could. Lovino was unsure, nervous, terrified. But Antonio could see what was in those golden eyes; and he could see that Lovino wanted him.

Antonio stole a glance up at Lovino, at his long fingers drumming against the table and brushing his dark hair from his dark eyes. Antonio wondered what had drawn him into himself so much. Of course, Roma was so protective of his grandsons - too protective. And despite how much Lovino thought he knew, despite his obvious intelligence and curiosity, this village was all he had ever known. It was strange; this clashing contrast of Lovino's desperate desire for more responsibility in the resistance with his constant, misguided fear. His maddening headstrong stubbornness with his intoxicating innocence. Antonio wanted to draw him out from all of this, to peel away all the protective layers Lovino placed on himself. He wanted to know Lovino completely, wanted to know who he was and who he could be and to be a part of it. Antonio wanted to be with him, to never be parted from him. Antonio simply wanted him.

Antonio realised Lovino was returning his stare just as he recognised the new song on the wireless. A few bars of swelling strings, and the words started. _Bésame, bésame mucho… _Antonio's heart jumped and he laughed when Lovino's wide eyes darted between him and the radio. Lovino obviously recognised the song, also. Quickly, impulsively, Antonio pushed back his chair, stood, took a chance. He bounced over to Lovino and held out a hand, grinning joyfully. "A dance, _mi corazón_!"

It was the first time Antonio had used those words since Lovino asked him not to, and he fully expected Lovino to refuse. He expected him to scoff, and swear, and brush him off angrily. He did not expect him to stare mutely, a cluster of emotions dancing behind his eyes and a range of expressions crossing his face, before nodding, standing, and taking Antonio's outstretched hand. Antonio laughed wildly, the joy flooding his lungs and his veins simply too much to hold silently. There was a short tangle of their unclasped hands as Lovino refused to place his on Antonio's shoulder, and they finally settled for a compromise of both resting their free hands on the other's side. Antonio felt like his cheeks would split – Lovino would not stop scowling.

The song was fairly new; one Antonio had heard only a few times, a pretty English version. The music started fairly slowly, and surprisingly, Lovino followed Antonio's lead immediately. The English singer had a lovely voice, and the translation fit perfectly. Lovino kept a small, guarded gap between them, and Antonio yearned to feel him closer, to pull him into his arms and against his chest. But he forced himself to maintain the distance as the music intensified and he drew Lovino across the floor. Lovino mimicked his movements perfectly, his hips moving to the underlying beat, finding the elusive rhythm easily. Antonio squeezed his hand playfully.

"You are a wonderful dancer, Lovino!"

Lovino raised his chin, his eyes brightening. But he still refused to smile. "I know."

"Wherever did you learn to move like this?" Antonio guided Lovino easily between the tables, pausing briefly to kick a chair out of the way.

Lovino lips twitched upwards just slightly. "I did not have to learn. I'm Italian."

Antonio shook back his hair, wagged his eyebrows, and flashed Lovino his most seductive grin. "Ah, but no one dances like the Spanish!" And as though to prove his point, Antonio moved his feet in a short, tapping step and spun Lovino in a few strong, close circles around the floor.

Lovino bit back a gasp and tightened his grip on Antonio. "Watch it, bastard, you're going to slam me into a table!"

Antonio took the opportunity to pull Lovino just the tiniest bit closer. "Oh, Lovino, what little faith you have in me!"

Lovino glared at him through narrow but sparkling eyes. "I don't know why you're leading anyway."

"Because I'm the better dancer."

"You are not."

"Because I'm stronger!"

Lovino reddened slightly. "You are not!"

"Because I asked you to dance, so there."

Lovino bit his lip and Antonio's burning pulse sped up. Oh, Lovino was fighting it so much; he was trying so hard not to smile. Antonio grinned deviously and Lovino just had time to raise an eyebrow in apprehension. At the sweeping string interlude Antonio winked, swung Lovino away, and twirled him under his arm. And Lovino laughed. Antonio's stomach flipped and warmth rippled through his veins. Oh, that was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard – oh, he had to get Lovino to do that again. Antonio pulled him back close, then immediately turned Lovino and dipped him low to the ground. Lovino gasped, choked on a shriek, and could not stop another laugh escaping his lips. Antonio laughed gleefully and again pulled Lovino up into his arms. Lovino tried to glare, but his beautiful golden eyes were dancing, his lips twisted in a smile he could not control. Antonio led him again across the floor, Lovino clinging tightly to Antonio's arm, this time with no careful distance between them.

"I told you I'm the better dancer!" laughed Antonio.

"Well if you gave me some warning next time!"

"Where would the fun be in that?" Antonio swung Lovino away one last time, twirled him back twice, and then… _Love me forever…_

Antonio was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. The music slowed, seemed to pause, seemed to stop altogether. Lovino's body pressed against Antonio's, their chests rising together, their hands clasped, Lovino's hand on Antonio's arm and oh, _Dios,_ Antonio's arm around his waist… It had been so long. So agonisingly long since he had held Lovino like this, and it was just as he remembered, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Their eyes met and Lovino was so close, his scented hair and his darkened eyes, staring up at Antonio, his lips slightly parted and his breath slightly fast. Antonio stared back, lost, motionless, everything still and silent but for those last, slow, quiet words. …_and make all my dreams come true._

The music drew to a close. Lovino did not move. But, as always, his thoughts and emotions danced in his eyes. Antonio waited, hardly daring to hope, hardly daring to breathe. He could see Lovino thinking; see him fighting; see him falling…

The door slammed open. Lovino broke from Antonio's arms, stumbling frantically away, and Antonio had to stop himself from groaning in disappointment. He stepped back immediately, but the three resistance members who barrelled through the front door did not appear to have noticed anything. That was not surprising, since they were carrying bottles of wine and glasses from the front bar, and had obviously already had a few.

"Antonio!" cried one of the men loudly, boisterously making his way to a nearby table and falling into a seat. The others followed, slamming down the glasses and bottles. Antonio nodded carefully, but he wanted to kick the men for their absolutely rotten damn timing.

"Good afternoon." He glanced sideways at Lovino, who looked distinctly nervous. Antonio knew Lovino did not get along with most of the Resistenza. He was fine with the women, even charming, but awkward and uncomfortable with the men. Antonio almost had to stop himself stepping between them.

"And little Vargas!" said the man who had greeted Antonio. He gave the greeting condescendingly.

"Lovino." Lovino practically spat the word. He often came across as rude, but it was obvious to Antonio he did not know how else to act. He wondered how no one else could see that.

"Oh, I apologise. _Lovino_." The man spat the word back in a crude impersonation, and the others laughed raucously. Lovino flinched and turned red, his eyes flickering briefly towards Antonio before looking away. He was embarrassed. Antonio glared at the man. He did not even know his worthless name. Some stupid backwater farmer, acting like a child, who thought he was more important than he actually was.

"You are early," said Antonio curtly. "Roma has not yet arrived."

"That's all right, we can wait." The partisans started pouring out the wine and Antonio narrowed his eyes. What did they think this was, some sort of game?

"Roma's not here yet?" said one of the men loudly, then stared at Lovino. "So you're allowed out without Grandpa holding your hand now?" The others again laughed loudly. Antonio started to say something, but Lovino broke in.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you think you're so fucking funny."

"You're the funny one, little Vargas. What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm here for the same reason as you!"

The partisan took a swig of wine and turned back to the others, laughing. "Nothing but a silly boy playing revolutionary."

"You should not bring alcohol to meetings," said Antonio, trying to change the subject. It took a lot to make him angry, but by this stage, he was burning with it.

"Oh, of course, little Vargas is too young for wine, isn't he…"

"I'm twenty!" shouted Lovino before Antonio could speak. Antonio watched him, concerned. Lovino's hands were bunched in fists, his shoulders rigid. He never could handle his emotions…

The men rolled their eyes, muttering. They looked like they were tiring of this cruel, stupid game. "Wouldn't know it. Grandpa won't even let you handle a mission."

Lovino was red and shaking. He opened his mouth, as though trying to think of something to say, but he could only shout, "Shut up!"

The partisan waved his hand dismissively, focused on the bottle before him. "Run along, little Vargas, you should get home before bedtime."

"Stop this!" Antonio shouted. His pulse hammered in his neck, his skin burned with fury. He wanted to charge over, grab the laughing bastards by the throat, slam them to the ground. "Don't you understand how serious this is? We are here fighting for the freedom of your country and the three of you charge in here drunk, acting like children. If you can't behave appropriately then…" Antonio did not even bother to finish the sentence when he noticed Lovino running out the back door. He just swore, and followed him.

.

Lovino pushed open the back door with shaking hands, desperate to hide himself in some dark corner of the alleyway behind the cantina. A few crates left on the ground sent him stumbling and he steadied himself with a hand on the cold brick wall. But he did not stop moving, even when he heard heavy footsteps following immediately behind him.

"Go away!" he shouted, hoping the slight crack in his voice did not betray him.

"No."

Lovino clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, angry and embarrassed and slightly panicked. He was mortified. He was ashamed. He was so afraid of the feelings inside him. Lovino reached the end of the alley and could go no further, so he just slammed his fists against the cold brick before him and rested his forehead against it. "I mean it," he said, almost choking on the words. "Just go away, Antonio, I don't… I can't…" Lovino gasped for breath, his throat choking closed against rising tears. "Oh God, please go away."

"Lovino, don't listen to those idiots."

Lovino covered his ears with his hands; wanting to block the sound of Antonio's pity, block his fake compliments and stupid kindness and misguided sympathy. Lovino was too hot, too restless; shaking, confused, afraid. It had been so wonderful in Antonio's arms. So wonderful to feel him, and hold him; to breathe the scent of him and see that brilliant smile and those dazzling eyes so close. It felt like he belonged there, like every aching, lonely void inside him had been finally filled. So perfect, so bright and warm and exhilarating. So damn wonderful that he had nearly lost control. Who knew what he might have done if those men had not arrived and broken his rising dreams, reminded Antonio what a hated fool Lovino really was. Arrived and completely, utterly humiliated him. He closed his eyes and whispered. "You know everyone hates me, don't you."

"That's not true…"

Now Lovino yelled. "Don't even try to deny it, I'm not stupid! No one has ever liked me. I've never even…" Lovino knew he was being childish, being hysterical, making an even bigger fool of himself, but oh God he couldn't stop... "I've never even had any friends, because that's how everyone thinks of me, just like those men in there! And you couldn't understand, because everyone likes you, people can't help liking you! And, and Feliciano was always everyone's favourite, and…"

"He's not mine." Antonio said it so firmly that Lovino broke off his escalating tirade immediately. "I don't care what anyone thinks. You are my favourite, Lovino." Antonio said the next words cheerfully. "You are my favourite person in the whole wide world!"

"But… but… but why?" Lovino finally brought himself to turn, his eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks burning. He was completely baffled. How could Antonio say that, think that? Did he not see the way people treated Lovino? Antonio raised an eyebrow, but Lovino determinedly pressed on, past the tears rising in his throat and gathering in his eyes. "Really, why? No one ever likes me best. I know what everyone thinks. That I'm cranky, that I'm difficult. That I'm a nuisance, I'm a coward, I'm stupid, I'm useless…"

Antonio shook his head, his expression strangely upset. "Stop, Lovino, stop."

"But it's true! It's all true, so, why me? Why not someone else? Why not Feliciano?" Lovino angrily wiped the traitorous tears from his eyes. He did not need further humiliation. He would not cry, damn it. He would not cry over this!

Antonio almost looked about to laugh, but he stopped himself. "Oh, Lovino. You have this angry scowl on you all the time, this cute little frown. That's why they all think that – because that's all they see. They are too ignorant, too indolent, too bloody stupid to even try looking beyond that." Lovino looked away. He could not look at Antonio as he said this. Why did Antonio have to be so stupidly kind? Why did he have to make this so hard? "Do you remember me telling you? People want what is easy. But if they can't spend the effort to really see you, Lovino, to know you - then they don't deserve you."

Lovino's breath caught at the lump in his throat. He swallowed and breathed, tried to loosen it with the cold air. If Antonio really thought that… even if he was stupid, and wrong, if he really thought that, then maybe… "But you... you'd... " Oh why could he not stop himself asking this? "But you would? Spend the effort?"

Antonio took a step closer until their chests almost touched. Lovino still could not look at him, but could feel his heat, could smell his scent, could remember what it felt like in those arms... "I do just that, _mi corazón_, every moment I am with you. Every beautiful, perfect moment I am with you. Because what they don't understand… and what you don't even realise… is that everything you are, everything you feel, Lovino, is written in your eyes."

Lovino's eyes widened. He immediately felt an overwhelming urge to hide. He settled instead for lowering his head, letting his hair fall in his eyes. Why did these stupid, dramatic things that Antonio said affect him so much? "How ridiculous," he muttered.

"The moment we met, I saw it. I saw _you_. You are such a wonderfully kind person, but you don't want anyone to know it. You have secret depths of passion that you hide within yourself out of fear. You love too deeply, but you try to deny it, because you know that the deeper you love, the more you hurt." Lovino blinked rapidly, still refusing to look at Antonio, but allowed him to very briefly reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The simple touch sent shivers of fire across his skin. "Your heart is so fragile," Antonio whispered gently, his fingers lingering on Lovino's cheek, seemingly reluctant to pull away. "Which is why you keep it locked in an iron cage."

Lovino finally looked up and met Antonio's strong, even gaze. Antonio was good, was honest and true and sincere. He couldn't be lying about this. There was nothing fake in his handsome, glowing face, and Lovino suddenly wondered what right he had to doubt what Antonio believed. "A cage?" asked Lovino, unsure what Antonio meant.

Antonio nodded, his smile small and reflective. "But I am pretty sure that this cage has a lock. And if it takes me five years, or ten, or fifty… I am determined to find the key. Because, Lovino, I will never break something so precious, just to find out what is inside."

Lovino took a shuddering, steadying breath, and shook his head. How could Antonio not see the glaringly obvious - Lovino did not deserve him. "But I don't understand! You're brave and handsome and funny and, yes, irritating and stupid, but strong and passionate and…" Lovino stopped, embarrassed at the words, but starting to wonder what reason there was to hide anymore. "… and why would you want me?" he finished quietly.

In this dark, empty alley, Antonio's gentle, unfathomable words echoed like thunder in Lovino's head. "Lovino. I could give you a thousand words, and describe you a thousand ways. But in the end it is very simple. I want you because I love you. No one else. You, Lovino. You are the only one." Lovino blinked forcefully against the tears, but was starting to lose the fight. "You are my only one."

"Oh..." This damn breathlessness. This fear, elation, disbelief, pride, bliss… Lovino's body was too small to hold these feelings. They crowded inside his swollen chest, flooded his veins, overwhelmed his mind; and Lovino needed to shout, but he could only whisper. "Oh."

"And if you decide you will never feel that way about me, then I will accept it. I will never love anyone else, but I will accept it. But if there is the slightest spark - the tiniest flame of hope there that maybe, possibly, one day you can let yourself feel just a fraction of what I feel for you - then I will wait, Lovino." Antonio smiled, the smile that drove everything else from Lovino's mind, that stole his breath and broke down his defences and forced him to reconsider everything he thought he believed. "I will wait however long it takes until you are ready."

Lovino could not do this anymore. He could not pretend. He could not push Antonio away, could not lie like last time. Not when someone as pure and good and honest opened himself like this before him, looked down at him with such beautiful hope and such deep green eyes. Lovino felt his resistance weaken, felt a tear escape his eye, and he whispered. "You'd wait that long?"

Antonio sighed softly, smiling, and followed the tear with a warm, gentle fingertip. "Forever, _mi corazón_."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_* YouTube (/watch?v=8A3zetSuYRg) – The 'infuriating canzone' of Grandpa Roma's. ;-)_

_YouTube (/watch?v=v9sUZyZcvUs) - The perfect song for Antonio and Lovino.__  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Winter, 1943<br>A village in Italy_

.

"You are back in town, Spaniard."

Antonio felt a wave of sick, cold fear roll through his gut. He glanced up sharply, then let out a short sigh of relief. The Turk stared down at him reflectively, that familiar smirk on his lips, that customary red fez perched on his head. He looked pointedly at the chair opposite, and Antonio gave a quick nod.

"So." The Turk sat heavily, leaning back easily in the chair. "We're gonna make this quick. Not a good idea for me to be seen here, you know."

Antonio nodded and took a long sip of wine to calm his nerves. This constant anxiety was starting to wear on him. The unfamiliar feeling was far too common these days, now that too many people in this small village knew his face. "I understand. Though you realise it is far more dangerous for me to be seen at the Cantina Rosso, my friend." Antonio replaced his wine on the table then offered to pour a glass for the Turk, who, as always, shook his head.

"Why else would I trudge to this side of town?" The Turk glanced disdainfully around the nearly empty front room of the Cantina Verde. "I always did prefer red to green."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Really? And here I thought your favourite was gold." He tossed a small, rattling bag on the table. The Turk quickly inspected the contents before putting the bag in his pocket.

"You see, this is why I like working with you, Spaniard." The Turk grinned. "You understand the absurdity of paper notes."

Antonio laughed softly. It was so easy to work with people whose only loyalty was to money. Easy but dangerous, considering the amount the Germans were willing to pay to get their hands on Antonio. "The lira is worthless right now. I'd never insult you with it." He leant forward slightly, a tiny, shrewd smile on his lips. "Don't forget that."

The Turk seemed to understand. "I'd be a fool to turn you over to the Germans. Why work for one side when you can work for both?" He shrugged, as though to suggest the absurdity of the suggestion. "But, to business. With the nearby German airbase, it was only a matter of time before the Americans joined our little party. Here." The Turk pulled a thick bundle of string-tied paper from his jacket, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Antonio. "Transcripts of orders from top American Air Force personnel and maps of projected landing sites. The Americans are going to want to cause as much damage as possible while they have the element of surprise."

"Of course," muttered Antonio, briefly flicking through the papers. "This is what I've been trying to obtain information on..." An American air fighter unit currently based in London, a projected landing south at Anzio… yes, this was just the material he needed to pass on to Roma. Antonio had worked tirelessly on this one mission for weeks - after all, he needed a reason to return to this village. "Now, we know the Americans are landing soon, but we need a way for them to destroy the German airbase _and_ its most dangerous personnel in one swoop."

"Leave that to me, my friend." Antonio glanced up from the papers and the Turk grinned deviously. "I'll find something out. And the moment I do, I'll inform you."

Antonio narrowed his eyes in a brief moment of suspicion. "You wouldn't give the Germans this information, would you?"

The Turk leant back and laughed wildly. "And lose your regular gold donations? Did I not just say that would be foolish? No, Spaniard, you would do well to forget such suspicions. I do suggest, however, that you send someone other than yourself to meet me next time. Someone… innocent looking. You are far too recognisable in these parts nowadays." A calculating gleam appeared in his eyes. "I have to wonder why you return insistently to this one little village when the danger is so great for you."

Antonio shrugged nonchalantly. "I am recognised in many places. My work is as important here as anywhere." But the Turk was right. It was too dangerous for Antonio to be in this village, he knew that. And yet the longer this war drew on and the greater the danger became, the more Antonio felt himself drawn here. To the one place and the one person that mattered.

The Turk did not look convinced. "Some would say you are needed more in the south these days. Roma Vargas runs the resistance in this town as though it were an army unit. He does not require your constant assistance."

"Roma is always grateful for my assistance," said Antonio curtly, eager to drop this line of conversation. He folded the papers and placed them in his bag. "And I am sure he will be grateful for this information."

The Turk nodded, though there remained a knowing, faintly amused look in his eye. "Be careful on your way out of town. There are German patrols on the roads lately."

Antonio did not worry about that. He knew the back roads by now – he knew his way to Lovino's farmhouse. "I will be in town until the landings. I doubt, however, we will meet again." He stood quickly, excitement building in his chest when he finally allowed himself to think of where he was heading. There was no point denying it. Lovino was the real reason Antonio was here; Lovino was the reason he was risking everything. As he headed quickly for the door, Antonio barely heard the Turk speak behind him.

"Good luck, Spaniard."

.

Lovino slammed the bag of flour onto the kitchen bench and spun around to face Feliciano. His silly brother let out a tiny squeak and took a step backwards. Lovino scowled. "What is that irritating tune you've been humming all afternoon?"

Feliciano just scratched his head with that dim, blank look of his. "Huh? Oh." He shrugged. "It's not irritating, it's pretty." Then he continued humming it as he cheerfully filled the fruit bowl with tomatoes.

Lovino nearly growled in annoyance. Feliciano had arrived late to the Resistenza meeting at the cantina, bounced in and waved like a fool, then simply sat at the back of the room playing with the wireless radio. It was unacceptable. When would Feliciano realise the seriousness of this situation? When would he stop acting like a silly little child and getting away with it? And when would he stop humming that ridiculous song? "It's stupid," said Lovino. "Stop it. Stop it now."

Feliciano pouted and whined, "But Lovino…"

"You need to take things a little more seriously, Feliciano." Lovino could not keep the frustration from his voice. He knew he was probably overreacting, but he hadn't been able to control his frustrated emotions lately. It was now almost a month since he had last seen Antonio. One month since the infuriatingly wonderful Spaniard had held Lovino close as they danced, since he had touched Lovino's tears and said he would wait forever. One lingering, unchanging month that had felt like an eternity and passed like a lifetime. Lovino still felt unworthy, still felt confused. He felt lost in the resistance, always kept from doing anything worthwhile for the cause. But above all, Lovino felt painfully lonely, and painfully sad. So now, he couldn't help feeling irrationally angry that Feliciano could act so damn happy and carefree. "You can't just spend important meetings like that sitting and singing along to the radio. This isn't a game. You need to be serious, like me and Grandpa." Lovino suddenly jumped when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"What's all this I hear about being serious?" Grandpa Roma placed a bag of oranges on the bench, that same dopey grin on his face that Feliciano always wore. Lovino gritted his teeth and glared. Just what he needed - his grandfather acting stupidly cheerful as well. "Don't listen to your brother, Feliciano, he's far too _serious_ for his own good. And you have a beautiful voice, just like your Grandpa!" Lovino tried to respond angrily, but Roma raised a hand. "Try this one…" And then the bastard started singing. Feliciano laughed, clapped joyfully, and of course, joined in. Lovino immediately put his hands over his ears.

_*"La donna è mobile, Qual piuma al vento, Muta d'accento - e di pensiero."_

"Grandpa, don't be ridiculous!" Lovino silently cursed Verdi, backed away from his embarrassing family, and prepared to flee. Sometimes he honestly wondered if he was related to these people… "I mean it!"

Feliciano giggled, Roma kept that stupid smile on his face, and they both raised their voices as they advanced menacingly on Lovino.

_"Sempre un amabile, Leggiadro viso, In pianto o in riso, - è menzognero."_

"STOP!" Seriously, did they even _know_ how absurd they looked? Lovino looked around desperately for an escape, only to be impeded as Roma stepped in front of him and placed a cooking pot on his head. Of all things… but Lovino was not going to laugh, damn it. This was not funny, this was childish and ridiculous and… "Go away! Stop it! Leave me alone! You're both crazy and I'm leaving this family!"

_"La donna è mobil'. Qual piuma al vento, muta d'accento - e di pensier!"_

Lovino finally managed his getaway. He dodged around his childish brother and preposterous grandpa, charging across the kitchen as they gave chase still singing that infuriating canzone. Fighting the laughter rising in his chest, Lovino threw open the kitchen door, ran into the front room, and immediately froze. An icy hot shudder ran down his spine. The blood drained from his face, his breath stopped short, and his heart stuttered a wild, frantic convulsion in his chest. Antonio just smiled back at him from the front doorway. His green eyes sparkled in amusement; his lips held back a burst of laughter. Lovino's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He pulled the pot from his head and scowled angrily. "What are you looking at, bastard?"

"Antonio!" Roma rushed across the room, smiling joyfully, and threw his arms around Antonio warmly. "Ah, thank the good Lord! I was hoping to see you soon!"

"Greetings, Roma!" said Antonio happily. "It's good to see you!" Despite himself, Lovino felt his heart tug at his chest when he realised how tired Antonio looked. He must have been travelling far, and working hard. Lovino suddenly wondered what it would be like if he could walk over to Antonio and take the pack from his shoulder, lead him to the couch, sit beside him, hold him and kiss him and laugh with him… Lovino shook the startling, intruding image away. And he'd thought he was getting so good at ignoring his feelings.

"Antonio!" cried Feliciano, running across the room and jumping excitedly. "Did you bring me a present? Huh, huh, did you?" Antonio laughed and ruffled Feliciano's hair. Lovino folded his arms and scowled, irritated and strangely jealous.

"Of course I did, Feli! This time I have…" Antonio left a dramatic pause before reaching into the large bag slung over his shoulder and pulling out a soccer ball. Feliciano gasped loudly and snatched it from Antonio's hands.

"Yes! Perfect! I lost my last one, actually Lovino lost it, and it's been impossible to find a new one and I've actually been wanting one of these lately because…" Roma slapped Feliciano over the back of the head. "I mean, uh, thank you, Antonio!"

"You're welcome, Feliciano! And I have something special for Lovino!"

Lovino felt his bones freeze. Antonio smiled across the room brightly, enticingly, so warm and kind and good, his messy brown curls slightly too long and his deep green eyes so intense and…

"Lovino, my dear boy!" Roma's words shook Lovino from his transfixed stupor. "Stop being a rude little bastard and get over here."

Lovino remembered himself and plastered a scowl on his face, walking slowly across the room with his arms still folded. He stopped just before Antonio, so close he could touch him, so close he could smell him… Antonio reached into his bag and pulled out a small red object. He tossed it into the air, caught it, and held it out with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with that bright, familiar mischief. Lovino stared curiously at the round object in Antonio's hand.

A tomato. A _tomato?_ The bastard had given Feliciano a soccer ball, and all he had for Lovino was a piece of fruit! After all these weeks, after everything… "A fucking tomato?" Lovino winced as Grandpa Roma smacked him over the back of the head.

"Watch your manners, young man."

Lovino almost forgot the blasted tomato. First he was caught with a pot on his head, now his grandpa chastised him like he was eight years old. Could this situation possibly get any more humiliating? Lovino rubbed his head and glared at Roma angrily. "Why would I want a stupid tomato, Feliciano bought a bag of them today."

"Don't be impolite, and take the tomato."

"I don't want the tomato!"

"Take the fucking tomato, Lovino!"

Lovino snarled and snatched the stupid tomato. However, instead of the soft fruit he expected, the small object in his hand was actually hard and smooth. Lovino felt his brow wrinkle in confusion, then glanced up quizzically at Antonio. The bastard simply winked.

Roma spread his hands apologetically. "Antonio, a thousand apologies. I love my grandsons to death but they can be such rude little shits."

Lovino's neck flushed angrily, but Antonio just laughed and clapped Roma on the back. "Please, Roma, there is nothing to apologise for. It is I who should be apologising for the delay in my arrival. The travel routes have become so difficult in the last few months."

Lovino felt apprehensive at the words. It was just as Roma had been saying in meetings lately – that the military presence around the village had been increasing, that times were growing more perilous. Again, Lovino was reminded of just how dangerous Antonio's work was. Feliciano barely seemed to notice the conversation, gazing at his soccer ball with some silly, far-off look in his eyes. Roma just waved a hand dismissively. "Of course, of course, I understand this. I expect you have information for me?"

Antonio nodded. He and Roma made their way to the large central table, spreading pages of documents from Antonio's bag across the surface. Feliciano bounced over to the couch by the staircase, tossing his ball from hand to hand, but Lovino stayed where he was. Familiar, unpleasant anxiety rolled in his stomach, rose in his chest. He had to know what this information was; had to know just how much Antonio was risking.

"Finally, I've been given information directly from the Americans," said Antonio. He passed a small pile of papers to Roma, who immediately began rifling through them.

"Landing positions," muttered Roma. "I knew that German airbase would bring trouble."

Antonio shrugged. "Of course it was only a matter of time before the Americans wanted this village. What we need now is a plan for them to bring down a large chunk of the occupying military before the inevitable battle. The Germans are spread too thin throughout Italy – they do not have the resources to send immediate support."

"Have you any plan?"

Antonio ran a hand wearily through his hair. "I have someone working on it. But Roma, more than anything else, this is vital." Antonio placed his hand over the papers and fixed Roma's eyes in an intense, solemn stare. "This information must be kept from the Germans. They absolutely must not know about the landing."

Lovino let out a long, silent breath, anxious and uneasy. He went and sat heavily on the couch beside Feliciano, turning the smooth, solid tomato over in his hands. Feliciano reached for it immediately, and Lovino snatched it out of the way.

"Lovino!" Feliciano whined childishly. "Let me see, what is it? It's not actually a tomato, is it?"

"No." Lovino carefully inspected the strange gift from Antonio. "It's hard, like it's made of glass or something." He shook it and it rattled slightly. There seemed to be something inside. Just what did Antonio mean by giving him some sort of glass puzzle? "I think you can open it, but I can't work out how."

"Oooh." Feliciano sounded fascinated. "Why did Antonio give you something terrific like that?"

Lovino scoffed. "Terrific? I don't even know what it is!" Lovino held the object to his ear and shook it again. Yes, there was definitely something inside. He burned to know what it was. Antonio and his stupid little games… didn't he know how much Lovino hated to be kept in the dark? "Stupid Spaniard. This is going to drive me crazy."

Feliciano shrugged, quickly losing interest, and focused again on his soccer ball. Lovino ran his hands gently over the glass tomato, occasionally glancing over at where Roma and Antonio poured over the table of documents. It was obvious how dangerous things were becoming for Antonio. If the Germans discovered his presence in the village, he would be captured, tortured for information… killed. It was becoming so hard for Lovino to reconcile these warring emotions. As hard as he tried, he simply could not deny how drawn he was to Antonio. He could not ignore how much he missed Antonio when he was away, how desperate he was to be with the Spaniard when he returned. Just watching the man now across the room - his face handsome and intent as he talked, his body strong and graceful as he moved - Lovino's chest ached with desire simply to touch him.

But he was still scared. He was scared, because as the months drew on, the more Antonio travelled and learnt and involved himself in confidential military matters. The more the danger against him increased; the more wanted and hunted he became. While at the same time, the more Lovino felt these walls around his heart start to crumble. And the more likely it became that he would be hurt.

It took Lovino a moment to realise he was staring at Antonio, and a further moment to realise that he was staring back. Lovino's heart flipped into his throat. But before he could think how to react, Antonio gave him a tiny smile, and winked. Lovino nearly choked. What did the stupid Spaniard think he was doing? Grandpa Roma was right there! Lovino tried to look unimpressed, rolling his eyes as he looked away. He was not going to smile. He was not going to acknowledge this warm, bright glow that swelled in his chest and tingled down his neck. He was _not_ going to _smile_, damn it!

Lovino almost sighed with relief when Roma and Antonio stood from the table and traded a few more documents, their short conversation over. Lovino and Feliciano stood immediately to join them. "I will be in town for a few weeks, Roma, so I will keep you informed," said Antonio, thrusting a handful of papers messily into his bag.

Lovino's stomach jumped. _A few weeks…_ He was both terrified and overjoyed at the thought.

Roma smiled as he answered, "Yes, yes. Please come around whenever you are free. Our home is your home, my friend."

At those words, Lovino's stomach turned in circles. _Come around whenever you are free… _He swallowed heavily. That would be terrible, that would be wonderful, that would be…

"Of course I will!" Antonio smiled brightly and it lit up his eyes, his face, the entire room... Lovino raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a very long breath. Oh, he didn't think he could do this much longer. His chest ached jealously when Antonio pulled Feliciano into a hug. "Stay safe, Feli."

"Visit soon, Antonio!"

Antonio nodded, turned, and despite every desperate, aching ounce of desire in his body, Lovino took a step backwards. His heart started pounding. Not here… not now… he could not let Antonio put his arms around him, he couldn't handle this, why was Antonio leaning towards him, what was he… Lovino's pounding heart stopped when he felt Antonio's breath warm against his ear. "Still waiting, _mi corazón."_

Lovino fought back the breathless gasp that rose in his chest. His eyes widened and his face burned bright red. Antonio pulled back, his gaze still on Lovino, a small, delighted smile on his lips and an intense, burning look in his eyes. Their eyes remained locked until Roma quickly grabbed Antonio by the arm, steered him forcefully towards the door, and kissed his cheeks almost violently in farewell. "Until next time! Oh, and Antonio, tell me. Can you sing?"

Antonio smiled a little dazedly, his expression slightly confused. "Sing? Why?"

Roma narrowed his eyes. "Because if you look at my grandson like that again, I will castrate you."

Lovino could not believe it. He felt his face contort in pure shock. How much did Roma know? And how _dare_ he say that to Antonio? "Grandpa!" cried Lovino, absolutely mortified. What must Antonio be thinking?

Antonio's expression turned blank until Roma burst into raucous laughter. Antonio let out a relieved sigh and laughed along.

"No, no," laughed Roma, clapping Antonio heavily on the shoulder. "But Antonio, really…" Roma immediately broke off laughing and caught Antonio's eyes in a dark glare. "I'm deadly serious."

Lovino clapped his hand to his forehead. He was caught between wanting to die of embarrassment and wanting to smash something against the wall. Feliciano just seemed to find it amusing. Antonio backed up to the door, still attempting a valiant smile. "We'll… uh. We'll speak soon, Roma."

"We will!" Roma smiled cheerfully, giving Antonio a happy wave. When Antonio's eyes met his, Lovino did not know whether to look away or try somehow to apologise. Roma, however, made a distinct slicing motion below the waist, so Antonio simply gave Lovino one last smile before rushing out the door. Lovino wondered briefly if it was actually possible to die of embarrassment. Roma just clapped his hands, spun around, and grinned widely. "So," he said merrily. "Who wants pasta for dinner?"

"Ooh, ooh!" Feliciano jumped and raced back into the kitchen.

Lovino growled in his throat as he dragged himself behind. "I'm leaving this family."

.

Lovino could not sleep. How could he possibly sleep tonight? His head spun with constant, infuriating thoughts of Antonio, with fear and excitement for the coming morning. It was the first time Lovino would be involved in a mission with Antonio. True, Grandpa Roma would be there also, but Lovino still could not control the jumpy, clawing, almost painful nervousness that coiled in his stomach. Since the crippling embarrassment of the previous evening, Lovino had not had the chance to speak with Antonio alone. Now that Grandpa Roma seemed to be growing suspicious, Lovino was starting to wonder if there would ever be a chance – and more importantly, if he even wanted one.

Lovino had done his best to keep Antonio from his mind in the recent weeks. He had done as he always had when trying to forget. He had focused on the resistance, trying to prove he was worthy. It even seemed to be working - Grandpa Roma had finally given Lovino his own pistol. He had thrown himself into organising, thrown himself into celebrating. He had gotten thoroughly drunk a few days earlier at an unplanned celebration in the farmhouse, only to wake the next day with a dry mouth, a pounding head, and the fuzzy, horrifying memory of dancing and singing and playing his guitar on the table. And yet still, always, constantly, Lovino thought of Antonio. Dreamt of him. Waited for him. It was impossible to forget Antonio while he was away, let alone now he was here in the village, a mere walk away. Of course Lovino could not sleep.

And so Lovino lay silently, staring at the wall, unable to hear Feliciano's breathing in the bed across the room. Feliciano had been strangely eager to head to the market today, yet he had come home with nothing but an inexplicable bar of chocolate. Lovino barely had time to consider where he got such a thing. Instead his mind was preoccupied with the memories of Antonio at the cantina today. The Resistenza members had been so happy to see him – but of course, everyone was always happy to see Antonio. Lovino had just sat on a table at the back of the room, watching as they shook Antonio's hand, as they chatted brightly, smiled happily, laughed cheerfully. Everyone liked Antonio. But how could they possibly not? And again, Lovino could not help but wonder: how could someone so damned friendly and popular as Antonio love _him?_

"Lovino?" Apparently, Feliciano could not sleep either.

"Hmm?"

Feliciano's voice cut straight through Lovino's scattered thoughts. "What do you think of Antonio?"

Lovino almost choked. He gasped, then immediately coughed in an attempt to hide it. He had to remind himself that Feliciano could not read his mind. Feliciano could not know Lovino's feelings for Antonio… surely… "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Well, don't you like him?"

Lovino snorted and tried to sound offended. "Like him? That Spanish bastard? Why the hell would I like him?"

"Well, I like him, and Grandpa does, and I just sort of thought that you did. Maybe. A little more than we do."

Lovino's pulse sped up and a tight knot of fear settled in his stomach. But no, Feliciano couldn't possibly know. Lovino had hidden his feelings too well, too completely. How could silly little Feliciano possibly see through that? "Well, I don't."

"Oh." Feliciano sounded surprised. "All right then."

Lovino waited a few moments before breathing a cautious sigh of relief. He did not know what had possessed Feliciano to start asking about this, but Lovino was going to have to be a little more careful from now on. It was bad enough that Grandpa Roma was beginning to have suspicions, but _Feliciano…_ God, Lovino must be more obvious in his emotions than he realised!

"Lovino?"

Lovino gritted his teeth. "What?"

"Have you ever thought of telling Antonio that you… don't like him?"

Lovino's mind went blank. Feliciano _knew…_ The blankets felt suddenly stifling as sweat rose on his neck.

"Lovino?"

"Go to sleep, Feliciano." Lovino hoped Feliciano could not hear the desperation in his voice. He breathed deeply and tried to sort out the frantic thoughts running through his head. If everyone seemed to know Lovino's feelings, what was even the point of trying to hide them anymore? After all, they weren't going away. But he knew the answer; knew the reason. Because he was still so scared of being hurt.

"Lovino?"

Lovino almost jumped. "For God's sake, Feliciano, what do you want?"

Feliciano sounded more certain this time. "You do like Antonio, and you do want to tell him, but you are worried about what might happen when you do. Not that I really blame you, because Grandpa Roma did threaten to castrate him and all, but maybe… maybe if you just explained…"

"Feliciano." Lovino spoke quietly, almost breathlessly. He thought for a moment about how to explain his emotions, his reasons. When he finally spoke, it was almost to himself. Feliciano would probably not even understand. "Sometimes we have feelings which we will never be able to express. Sometimes we have secrets that should stay that way. Sometimes…" Lovino stopped, seeing Antonio's smiling face in the darkness, and realised that he wasn't even sure he believed what he was saying. "Sometimes there are things that are just not worth the risk."

Even as he said it, Lovino knew he was lying to himself. Antonio was all that mattered; Antonio was everything. He took away Lovino's uncertainty, took away his loneliness. There was a void in Lovino that only Antonio could fill, and it was frightening just how empty Lovino was without him. Antonio reached into Lovino, into a place he didn't even know existed, and filled him with a happiness and a belonging and a brilliant joy that went beyond anything he had ever thought possible to experience. When Antonio was away, Lovino existed. It was only when he was with Antonio that Lovino actually lived.

And that was what Lovino risked. That joy, that bliss, that completion. It was what he was so scared to feel, and what he fought so hard against. Because it was what he was scared to lose. Lovino knew if he accepted it, believed it, felt it, and if he then lost it, that he could not survive.

But then he remembered that perfect feeling in Antonio's arms; the brush of Antonio's warm hand on his cheek. Remembered the hope and love in Antonio's eyes, the joy and beauty in his smile. Lovino was drawn to Antonio with every single part of his being.

It was a hard thing to realise. But if Antonio wasn't worth the risk, then nothing was.

.

The 'mission' was a joke. Four hours traipsing the back roads to a remote mountain posting of fighting partisans, fifteen minutes getting their news of German patrols in the area, and now Lovino trudged the road home bitterly behind Antonio and Grandpa Roma with the distinct feeling they had only brought him along to humour him. He kicked a rock on the dirt track before him, hands in his pockets, scowling to himself. He felt like a fool. What was even the point of Roma giving him a pistol if he was never going to have the chance to use it? Lovino wanted to prove himself worthy. He wanted to show everyone that, despite what they thought, he could be an important member of this resistance too. He could fight for the country he loved. And watching Antonio amble along the road before him, his curly brown hair flying in the wind and his tuneless whistle carrying on the breeze, Lovino could not deny that, more than anything, he wanted to impress this man. He wanted the brave, handsome, infuriatingly cheerful Spaniard to know that he could be brave, also. Lovino wanted to prove himself worthy of Antonio's unfathomable affections.

Lovino kicked the rock forcefully along the trail, quickly growing bored of the unchanging landscape around him. A tall, steep hill loomed over the wide country road and a gently sloping rise led down to green fields and valleys below. Lovino raised his eyes and watched as distant storm clouds massed beyond the mountains. The day had been unseasonably warm, but it was fast growing cooler as the sky began to darken. The wind was also starting to pick up, gusting briskly through the trees that bordered the road. It looked like this pleasant, sunny weather would not last much longer; perhaps there would even be a storm to break the strangely warm winter days.

Lovino grumbled to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. This boring, pointless walk refused to end, and it felt like they'd been marching forever. When the hell would they stop? Taking a deep breath, Lovino was just about to demand a break, when a loud, sharp bang interrupted him. Lovino's heart leapt to his throat as Antonio and Roma turned quickly at the sound, both reaching for their weapons. Hurriedly, unthinking, Lovino attempted to do the same, only to catch his foot on the unsteady path and stumble. Sharp, burning pain shot through his ankle, and he cried out as he fell.

"LOVINO!" Grandpa Roma's shout was harsh with panic. But it was Antonio who reached him first, falling to his knees before Lovino could even comprehend what was happening. Antonio ran his hands over Lovino's jacket, swift and searching and confusing.

"Lovino, are you hit? Lovino? Roma, scout the direction. Lovino, answer me!"

His chest pounding and his head spinning, Lovino pushed himself upright and batted Antonio's hands away. "Will you stop it, what is your problem, it's just my…" Lovino broke off and gasped, pain searing up his leg in a sudden agonising wave. "…ANKLE, SHIT, OH SHIT!"

Antonio breathed out in relief. "Ah. _Gracias a Dios."_

Lovino tried to glare, though he had to blink back tears from the pain. "Thank God? It's fucking killing me you bastard, what are you oh shit no don't touch it _ARGH!"_ Lovino felt Grandpa Roma's hand cover his mouth to cut off his scream.

"Lovino. You are all right. Let Antonio check your ankle. It looks like the sound was a snapping tree branch, but there are German patrols along this road sometimes, so you still have to be quiet. And watch your damn mouth."

Lovino scowled angrily. Roma was probably only saying that to shut him up. Surely they would not be walking this road so openly if there was any real chance of a German patrol. Regardless, Lovino nodded, and Roma removed his hand. At the same time, Antonio pulled off his boot, and Lovino had to slam his own hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. He fought to stop himself from kicking Antonio as he ran his hands gently over the tender flesh.

"It's just a sprain," said Antonio, his voice relieved. He smiled brightly at Lovino. "Nothing's broken. You can't put any weight on it, though – we'll have to go slowly."

Roma breathed out heavily. "Ah, good. But we're already running late, and after Feliciano's meeting with the informant today…"

"You can go ahead, Roma." Antonio spoke far too quickly. "I can help Lovino home."

Lovino's eyebrows shot up, his heartbeat racing into his throat. Roma looked from Antonio to Lovino and then out across the valley. He nodded reluctantly. "You know how panicked Feli can get. I had better hurry." Roma headed off immediately down the road, shouting back as he went. "Be as fast as you can, and be careful."

Antonio gave him a small wave. "Always, Roma."

Lovino almost forgot his twisted ankle. Grandpa Roma had left them alone. Lovino was alone with Antonio. Alone for the first time since that mind-spinning dance in the cantina, since that wonderful, terrible, overwhelming conversation in the alley. Lovino did not know how to handle this situation. Antonio smiled at him, bright and joyful and stunning. Lovino glared back. "I don't need your help. I can walk on my own."

Antonio looked doubtful. "If you put any pressure on that ankle it is going to swell up like an overripe tomato."

The mention of tomatoes sent Lovino's thoughts flying directly to the glass tomato sitting in his top drawer at home. His heart beat even faster, sending his heated blood directly to his cheeks. It had only been two days, but Lovino was frustrated as hell that he couldn't figure out how to open the stupid thing. What was with Antonio and these silly little games? "Well then, I'll hop."

Antonio's doubtful expression twisted in amusement. "All the way home?"

Lovino answered defiantly. "Yes."

"I can carry you." Antonio grinned widely and wagged his eyebrows.

Lovino's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no. No you bloody well can't." He forced himself to his feet, took a determined step forward, and immediately stumbled as a wave of tearing agony shot up his leg. Antonio caught him securely by the arms.

"Oh, Lovino, you are so stubborn. For heaven's sake, let me help you." But Antonio smiled as he said it, helping Lovino hobble to a large rock by the nearby cliff face.

"Don't need your help," Lovino mumbled again, refusing to acknowledge the way Antonio's firm grip stopped the breath in his lungs and sent that familiar shiver up his spine.

"Well, you do need someone to bandage this ankle. Now sit down and just _try_ to relax, will you? _No seas tonto._"

Lovino sat heavily, glaring as Antonio shoved the boot in his bag and pulled a bandage out. "Don't call me that."

Antonio giggled as he knelt and reached for Lovino's foot. "Okay. _No seas tan adorable."_

Lovino burned red. "Don't call me that, either!" He shifted on the hard stone, feeling an uncomfortable lump digging into his thigh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his pointless pistol and placed it on the rock beside him.

Antonio stared at the gun, starkly black against the pale grey rock. "Did your grandpa not tell you? Never take your weapon from your side unless you intend to use it."

Lovino rolled his eyes. Did Antonio think Lovino knew nothing unless Grandpa Roma told him? "I know that! But it's only for a moment, I'll put it right back."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. "Don't forget," he said warningly.

"I'm not stupid," grumbled Lovino. Then he sighed and resigned himself to the painful, embarrassing, gentle feeling of Antonio's warm hands on his tender ankle. Lovino swallowed heavily as Antonio wrapped the long, white bandage carefully around the swelling limb. He searched for something to say, rather than just sit silently staring at Antonio's strong, tanned hands. "Today was not really a dangerous mission, was it?"

Antonio looked up with bright, green eyes though dark, wild curls. "Every mission is dangerous."

Lovino's heart thumped unevenly, so he looked away from those eyes and towards the darkening horizon. "You sound like Grandpa."

Antonio laughed, focusing again on wrapping the white cloth around Lovino's ankle. "But it is true, Lovino."

"He still won't let me go on a real mission. I wish he would stop protecting me."

Antonio shrugged. "Well, that's what you do when you love someone."

That warm touch of Antonio's fingers sent tiny, tingling shocks through Lovino's entire body. He had to admit, grudgingly, that at least it took his mind off the pain. "I can look after myself. I can handle danger."

"I know you can."

Lovino was surprised by his strong elation at Antonio's words, followed by his disappointment when Antonio pinned the bandage and dropped his hands. He very gently patted Lovino's leg to indicate he'd finished, but did not yet move to stand. Lovino peered down at him thoughtfully. "Would you choose me for one of your missions?"

Antonio leant forward slightly, his wind-blown hair falling in his eyes. "Your grandpa would kill me if I went behind his back." Lovino scoffed, but Antonio quickly continued. "But I could always use loyal help - so perhaps I will bring it up with Roma. Besides, you would always be safe with me."

Lovino's mouth practically dropped. He blinked a few times, silent and stunned. Antonio would actually suggest him for a real mission? For something important? "You're serious?" Antonio nodded. Lovino's heart seemed to soar in his chest, the pain in his ankle completely forgotten. Antonio trusted him. Antonio believed he was worthy. The feeling was oddly exhilarating. But more than that… "Why would I be safe with you?"

Antonio winked. "Because I would protect you, with my life."

Lovino reflexively tried to kick Antonio with his uninjured foot, even as his stomach flipped joyfully. "You say the most stupid things, dramatic Spaniard!"

Antonio just giggled. "But I require a promise from you, first."

Lovino folded his arms and glared. Always these stupid little games… "A promise?"

"That if we are ever in danger, you will do exactly as I say."

Lovino regarded Antonio carefully through narrowed eyes. He had made that promise once before. "Fine," he mumbled.

Antonio turned his head slightly, putting his hand to his ear. "What was that?"

"Fine!" Lovino grunted it through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry?" Antonio leant closer, his grin widening - the bastard was obviously having far too much fun. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake… I promise."

Antonio laughed and leant back on his heels. "There now, was that so hard?"

Lovino's lips pulled into a small, traitorous smile. "You really do say such stupid, melodramatic things, though."

Antonio threw his bag over his shoulder and grinned. "Ah, but if they can get you to smile like that, how can I resist?"

Lovino's heart fluttered annoyingly. "Oh, just stop it already, do you really think…"

"Ssh." Antonio abruptly raised a hand and turned his head, his smile falling and his eyes hardening. Lovino immediately fell silent, his stomach turning cold at Antonio's startling change of demeanour. He listened carefully, unable to hear anything but the wind, even as an awful anxiety grew horribly in his gut. Antonio did not move. Lovino started to ask what was wrong, when a low rumble sounded softly in the short distance. It grew slowly closer and clearer, until, with a flush of fearful heat, Lovino recognised the sound as a car engine. Antonio's wide, darkened eyes met his, just as Grandpa Roma's words rang in his head _- There are German patrols along this road, sometimes... _The moment seemed to stretch, hazy and distorted and lasting far too long. It broke when Antonio climbed frantically to his feet, grabbed Lovino by the arm, and dragged him from the dirt track towards the low, sloping rise.

Lovino barely felt the pain in his ankle. He had no time to think or feel anything before Antonio pulled him hurriedly into an embankment beside the road - one of the many trenches that had long been built throughout the Italian countryside. They fell heavily to the ground against the dug out hollow, unseen and sheltered from the road. Lovino's head spun almost painfully. "What are we going to..."

"Ssh, Lovino." Antonio spoke in a firm whisper, his eyes stern and steady, his body almost touching Lovino's in the small, cramped space. "Exactly as I say, remember? Stay silent, and stay completely still. They will drive straight by."

Lovino gulped and nodded, his shock turning quickly to fear. Everything was happening too fast. He tried to breathe evenly through the rising dread, waiting and praying for that sickening rumble of the car engine to pass them by. The sound grew steadily louder and closer, until it blasted down from the road above and Lovino forgot to pray; forgot to breathe. Then it quieted, stuttered, and stopped completely. Lovino felt his heart stop with it. Why were they turning off the engine? Why was the car stopping? Lovino looked at Antonio curiously, desperately, as though he could somehow hear and answer Lovino's silent questions. But Antonio simply looked confused until, with a sudden flash of almost fearful comprehension, his lips parted slightly and his eyes grew wide. And then Lovino realised. His pistol was still sitting conspicuously on that rock beside the road.

Lovino's stomach plunged to his feet. He shook his head in angry denial, icy sweat rising on his skin, burning tears gathering in his eyes. How could he have done something so stupid? Antonio _told _him not to put the weapon down! He _knew _not to put the weapon down! "I'm sorry," Lovino whispered, his hand flying to his mouth. Car doors opened and slammed shut above them; heavy, unmistakable German voices drowned out the wind. Fear and shame flooded Lovino's freezing veins. His voice cracked as he whispered again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm…"

Antonio shook his head and touched his fingers to Lovino's lips. "Ssh. No," he mouthed silently. Then quickly, strongly, he reached an arm around Lovino's waist and pulled him close. Beyond pride, beyond thought, beyond reason, Lovino fell desperately against him. The rough tread of military boots pounded on the road above, punctuated by shouts and orders and those deep, loud, paralysing German voices. Lovino simply clung to Antonio. He couldn't hold back his tears, couldn't think to feel ashamed. He could only hide his face in Antonio's neck and wait.

Breathing rapidly against Antonio's skin, Lovino's heart thumped wildly as his fear mixed with something else. Antonio was so close. Holding Lovino tight, stroking his back and smoothing his hair, touching his cheek and wiping his tears. Antonio calmed him and reassured him and comforted him without saying a word. Lovino closed his eyes. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve Antonio. Because of Lovino, all that now kept Antonio from torture and death was this tiny, shallow trench. If these German soldiers caught him now, if would be Lovino's fault.

Hot, heavy tears refused to stop falling. Lovino did not even care that he was shaking uncontrollably; he could only think about Antonio being captured, being killed, all because of his own _stupid_ mistake... He looked up suddenly, needing somehow to apologise, but stopped short at the look in Antonio's strangely gentle, reassuringly calm, brilliantly green eyes. He did not look angry. He did not look scared. Antonio just looked like the most wonderful, kind, beautiful, important person in Lovino's entire world.

But those harsh German voices kept shouting. Those heavy, pounding boots kept moving, drawing closer, faster, until they were directly above the trench. Lovino realised they weren't stopping. The soldiers were checking the roadside. Panic clawed at Lovino's chest, sickening and overwhelming, too hot and too wrong. He fought back a sob, shaking and sweating, even as Antonio stroked his hair and stared calmly into his eyes. This wasn't real, he couldn't do this, he couldn't breathe…

A deep voice shouted roughly from above. Antonio went rigid. His hand moved to his hip, and Lovino realised with a horrifying wave of dizziness that he was reaching for his gun. Lovino's mind froze with terror. His blood thrummed with it, his throat choked with pounding, clawing fear. He had never felt such terror in his life. Antonio just squeezed him tight, touched his lips to Lovino's ear, and whispered so quietly that Lovino could not be sure he heard it. "With my life."

A shudder ran though Lovino's body as his breath left him. It was almost painful how deeply the realisation struck: Antonio meant those words. Antonio really would die for him. Lovino's chest ached as Antonio rested his forehead against Lovino's own, as their breath mingled and their hearts beat rapidly between them. In these moments that might be their last, all Lovino wanted was to be with Antonio; to hold him, to feel him, to accept what Lovino had never allowed himself to accept before. He closed his eyes and felt the unspoken words pulse through every part of him._ I love you._

But then the footsteps stomped back to the road. The shouting voices drifted further away. Lovino held his breath, unable to move, his eyes still clamped shut. Scared to hope; scared to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, the car engine stuttered to life. It revved loudly, screeched deafeningly, and finally the tearing sound took off and disappeared into the distance. Lovino's eyes flew open and he could not hold back a sob of relief, though he again slammed his hand to his mouth immediately. Antonio breathed out heavily and put his pistol away. They stayed lying close for a few moments more, silent, waiting, until Antonio finally looked up and started to move. Lovino panicked immediately. What if it was a trick? What if they were still there? "No, no, no," Lovino whispered, shaking his head, gripping Antonio's arm and trying to stop him.

Antonio smiled reassuringly and took Lovino's hand, squeezing it gently. Then he looked over the top of the dug out embankment. "They're gone."

Lovino shuddered with an overwhelming relief, a cold sweat breaking over his skin. His terrified tears turned into gasping breaths of exhaling release. "Oh, God, Antonio!" he sighed, putting a hand to his heaving chest as though it could help him breathe. And then, suddenly, it hit him. How he'd acted, what he'd done, what he'd said… Lovino had never felt more embarrassed in his life. He snatched his hand from Antonio's, pushed himself upright, and shrunk away. The encompassing shame only made his disgraceful tears worse.

"Lovino?" Antonio sounded concerned.

"No!" Lovino tried instinctively to hide his face. "No, no, I'm an idiot! I made such a stupid mistake! It could have cost everything, and…" Lovino had to gulp for air. "And I'm such a _coward!"_

Antonio sighed gently, breathily, and laid his hand on Lovino's shoulder. "No, Lovino…"

"Stop!" Lovino flinched from Antonio's touch, angry and confused and humiliated. "Don't be nice to me, stop always being so nice to me! I _am_ just a coward because when something like this happens I fall apart! No wonder Grandpa doesn't let me go on serious missions, because look at me! I'm so afraid! I'm afraid of something happening to you, or to Grandpa, or Feliciano; I'm scared of being captured and tortured and killed, I'm scared of what I feel for you…" Lovino broke off and slammed a hand over his mouth. Oh crap, he'd said that. He had really just said that. "Shit, shit, damn it!" Lovino pulled himself to his feet, having completely forgotten his wounded ankle. He took a single step and fell to the ground. _No, no, no…_ "SHIT!"

Lovino utterly burned with embarrassment. He wanted to disappear; he wanted to die. He wanted a huge gap to open in the ground and swallow him whole. Lovino settled for drawing his knees up, placing his arms around them, and putting his head on his arms. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he would wake up if he just wished hard enough. Maybe…

"It is okay, Lovino." Lovino felt Antonio sit close beside him, but could not bring himself to look. The air around them grew colder by the second, the cool breeze turning Lovino's sweat icy against his skin. The calm silence of the early evening seemed so much deeper after the earlier harsh and raucous events. They sat in silence for a few moments before Antonio spoke again. "Oh, _mi corazón._ Everything is okay now."

"No," Lovino mumbled. "It's not."

Antonio paused a moment. "Lovino, you would not be human if you did not get scared."

Lovino scoffed into his arms. "That's easy for you to say. You're not scared of anything. You're the bravest man I know, you don't understand…"

"You think I don't get scared?" Antonio interrupted, then laughed gently, humourlessly. "Lovino, that was terrifying. Of _course_ I was scared. And I am afraid of all those things you mentioned. Of something happening to Roma, to Feli - God forbid, to you. Of being captured…" Antonio sighed wearily. "Of what the Gestapo would do to me."

Lovino shook his head forcefully. "Don't." He could not speak of that. He could not even think of that.

Antonio took a few moments to continue. "I'm afraid of the same things as you, Lovino."

Lovino turned his head on his arms, finally meeting Antonio's gaze. His smile was too understanding, his eyes too kind, his handsome face framed by his falling curls and the darkening sky. Lovino's heart skipped and swelled at the sight. He almost forgot to feel embarrassed.

"Lovino, we all feel fear. But some things are worth pushing through that fear for. Some things are more important." Antonio brushed a lock of hair behind Lovino's ear, a familiar breathtaking gesture that brought with it a flood of memory and emotion. "Some things are worth it."

Lovino could not answer. He could only close his eyes and turn his head away. He did not even know why he did it. It was uncontrollable, an instinct he had nurtured for so long and buried so deep that he had no choice. Denying his feelings for Antonio had become some strange part of him now. Lovino knew he was no longer saving himself from pain – he was only causing it, and yet, he did not know how to stop. He still tried to tell himself that loving Antonio was not worth the pain. Lovino carefully wiped the corner of his eye before another tear could fall.

"Come, Lovino." Antonio reached for Lovino's hand and squeezed it lightly, reassuringly. "It is getting dark. Lean against me, and I will help you."

Lovino nodded silently. He allowed Antonio to help him to his feet, allowed him to place an arm around his waist and help him walk. But he could not look at Antonio. He could not stand to see that hidden disappointment in those kind green eyes.

Antonio chattered aimlessly as they walked. He spoke of the usual topics: places he had been, people he had met. He laughed and joked and even sang occasionally, unfamiliar Spanish tunes and verses that Lovino could not translate. He held Lovino firmly, steadily, keeping the pressure off his ankle and preventing him from falling. The earlier horrifying, humiliating incident faded with the afternoon light, drifted away on the gusting breeze. Lovino remained silent, listening to Antonio's words, keenly aware of that steady arm around his waist and that firm hand holding his. Leaning into his warmth, breathing in his scent, accepting the old comfort and relief of his presence. Feeling like he belonged.

There was something else between them now. A quiet knowledge, an unspoken understanding that this _something else_ was leading somewhere. Every stolen glance, every unchecked thought, every spoken word was building it, uncontrollably, and no matter how scared Lovino might be, nothing could stop it.

And as they walked slowly, brokenly, gradually along the unsteady path beside the main road, Lovino felt a sudden realisation flood through his veins and burst in his mind.

It would not be much longer until he gave in.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they ambled slowly back to the tree-lined path, the sky had grown dark, the half-full moon beaming through a gap in the clouds to faintly illuminate the surrounding fields. The herb-scented wind was turning colder by the minute, a chilling breeze that promised a swift and bitter change to the mild winter weather. Yet for all Antonio cared, the sky could have been raining fire. Mere hours earlier, he'd been prepared for death. Now, his head was giddy with joy, and he had to keep looking down at his arm around Lovino's waist to make sure this was real. Lovino limped heavily on his ankle as they walked, his body warm where it pressed sideways against Antonio, his hands fidgeting awkwardly like he did not know what to do with them. He always did look so beautiful in the moonlight.

"And that one there..." Antonio pointed up at the infinite, star-clustered sky, "…is called the wheelbarrow!"

"The wheelbarrow?" Lovino repeated flatly, his expression a complicated mixture of mirth, derision, and outright pity.

"Yes!" said Antonio, blithely ignoring Lovino's tone. Right now, he was more than happy to be subjected to Lovino's scorn. After those paralysing moments hiding from a German patrol, Antonio was more than happy with any reaction from Lovino that wasn't utter terror or misguided embarrassment. This was Antonio's _real_ duty, after all – his happy, real, important duty - to distract his little Italian from his own darkness. Whether that meant dancing in an empty cantina, or giving him riddles shaped like tomatoes, or, currently, pretending to be an astronomer. "The outer moons form the handles there, and there, and that asteroid belt looks like a bit of grass stuck in the wheel, do you see?"

"No." Lovino did not even bother looking. The sky was just light enough to show the gold in his eyes, and the suppressed laughter behind them. "There is no constellation called the wheelbarrow. You made it up. You're making _all _this up."

Antonio managed an exaggerated, affronted huff. "I am not!"

Lovino raised a sceptical eyebrow. "The Big Tomato?"

"Hey?" Antonio actually thought that one was fairly believable. "The Big Tomato is a very ancient, very important constellation!"

"To who?"

"To… uh…" Antonio thought quickly. "…the druids."

"The druids?" Lovino nearly scoffed outright. "Despite the fact that tomatoes originated in Mexico, and were not grown in Britain until the late sixteenth century?"

Antonio determinedly pressed on. "Yes. The Big Tomato was a very important constellation to the Mexican druids."

Lovino's breath spun warm in the cold evening air, catching in a hitch before it could turn to laughter. He quickly looked away, impatiently brushing a stray lock of hair. "Your understanding of history is as exhaustive as your knowledge of constellations."

"Thank you, Lovino!" said Antonio brightly, ignoring Lovino's familiar nerves and barely veiled sarcasm. He just pointed again up at a bright cluster of stars. "That one, there, is Orion's Collar."

"Belt, actually."

Antonio had no idea where he was pointing, and was quite aware that Lovino knew it too. "And there's the Big Bear..."

"Ursa Major," Lovino sighed, but with the tiniest tug at the corner of his lip. "And it's over _there."_

"And oh, there's my favourite." Antonio pointed directly at the brightest star in the sky, shining brilliantly through a gap in the grey, misty clouds. He knew this one. "Venus. I like Venus."

"_Venere_," Lovino corrected into Italian, "is not a constellation."

"No. He is a star," said Antonio proudly.

Lovino touched a pained hand to his forehead. "Wrong. Again. _She_ is a _planet_."

Antonio broke into a delighted grin. There was no way he was going to win this one - but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Lovino was not scared, or embarrassed, or lost in his own dark thoughts. True he was probably thinking Antonio was a bit simple, but Antonio was rather used to people thinking that of him. "All right, Lovino, I give up. I can not help that I am not as clever as you."

Lovino pulled back, lowered his head, and muttered, almost inaudibly, "I didn't say that, idiot."

Oh, no. That would not do. Antonio laughed as lightly as he could manage, while his chest ached at how easily Lovino could take offence and draw into himself. "Now, just one more thing about _Venere…" _Antonio took Lovino's hand and lifted it with his own to point up at the sparkling planet. The touch shivered across his skin, and he pretended not to notice Lovino's sharp breath. "Did you know, that she is named for the Roman Goddess of love?"

Slowly, cautiously, Lovino raised his eyes to meet Antonio's. Antonio could almost see the thoughts running behind them, glistening gold in the darkness. He was so close; his hair smelt of lavender. Antonio's heart stuttered a little, until Lovino finally shrugged a shoulder in an obvious attempt at indifference. "No. I didn't know that."

At that, Antonio's heart nearly burst in his chest. Of course Lovino knew that. _Everyone _knew that, let alone someone as smart as Lovino. Antonio almost felt lightheaded that Lovino would pretend otherwise for the sake of sparing his feelings. It was fascinating how deep Lovino's thoughts went; how strong his emotions, how gold his eyes… Before he even realised what he was doing, Antonio brought Lovino's hand to his lips and kissed it. Immediately, Lovino's eyes went wide, his lips parted, his breath quickened…

_Too fast. _

Antonio lowered Lovino's hand and looked forward. "One day, Lovino." He tightened his arm around Lovino's waist as they continued walking at their slow, ambling pace. "One day, we'll go up there. Just ordinary people, like you and me. We'll go to the moon, and to _Venere,_ and maybe even to the Big Tomato. We'll go up there and touch the stars."

"You're mad." Lovino sounded a little breathless, his feet slightly unsteady on the path.

"But just imagine it, Lovino!" Antonio easily steadied Lovino, smoothly overlooking his sudden issues with coordination. "Imagine if mankind reached for the stars instead of trying so desperately to annihilate each other."

Lovino remained silent, and Antonio let himself wonder. If mankind reached for the stars… Well, then there would be no time for absurd things like tanks and torture, assassinations and espionage; maybe by then, mankind would realise what a truly senseless thing it was to extinguish life by the millions.

By now, Antonio barely even noticed where they were going. When they turned a bend in the road, Lovino halted abruptly. "Stop."

Antonio did so, his body tensing with alarm. "What is it?"

Lovino did not answer. He simply stared straight ahead. Antonio followed his gaze to the soft, glowing lights of the Vargas farmhouse up ahead. Lovino pressed the faintest touch closer, and Antonio did not dare ask again. Because Antonio could read the emotions in Lovino's face. The uncertainty; the emptiness. Lovino did not want to go home.

Until now, Antonio hadn't realised how deeply silent the countryside was in the starlit evening. No distant engines, or echoing bomb blasts. None of those unwelcome reminders that war still raged around them. With nothing but the gusting wind and Lovino's quiet, gentle breaths, this might be any peaceful, easy evening on a cool Italian winter's night. But the moment Lovino's warm weight shifted, his shoulders slumped and his arms clutched to his chest, Antonio knew that though this night seemed peaceful, it was anything but easy. He searched for something, anything, to soften this sudden sadness.

"Have you solved the mystery of your tomato yet?"

The words came unbidden, but they seemed to work. Lovino startled immediately. He blinked wildly, looking momentarily thrown, then confused, then rather annoyed. All traces of sadness diminished and he just spat, "That stupid thing. I've barely thought of it."

Antonio brightened instantly. Lovino's vehement denial was simply proof to the contrary. "That's a real shame," Antonio said, casually. "Because, you see_.._." He leant closer, until his lips touched Lovino's hair and his stomach turned in fiery circles. "…it's a top secret message," he finished in a whisper.

Lovino's eyes widened, darkened, before growing suspicious and rolling upward. "So you're a code writer, now?" he asked sarcastically.

Antonio puffed out his chest and gave an arrogant nod. "One of the best. The British army wanted me, you know, but I've never been good with pigeons. And, of course, my heart always lay with astronomy."

That was almost too much. Lovino almost laughed. He broke into a coughing fit to hide it. Antonio continued eagerly, while he had the advantage: "You must decipher the tomato code, read the secret message, then relate the words immediately back to me, understand?"

"_Tomato_ code?" Lovino broke off coughing to groan in disbelief. He pushed Antonio's shoulder with surprising force and awkwardly limped away. "You don't have to make fun of me."

"No, no, Lovino, I would never!" Antonio hurried to follow, giggling madly and trying in vain to keep his arm around Lovino's waist. After all, he didn't want Lovino to fall, and the need to see him smile was like a physical ache. "It is very important, once you have the secret tomato words you must…"

"Secret _tomato words?!"_ Lovino's tone grew increasingly exasperated, his hands clenched in fists, though he was unable to control his smile as he limped furiously towards the house.

"Wait!" cried Antonio, rather surprised at Lovino's speed, and rather elated by his smile. "Wait, Lovino, your ankle!"

Lovino drew a breath like a warning and batted Antonio's hand away, but a gasp of laughter finally burst from his lips. "I'm _fine_!"

Antonio's chest flipped. Lovino's laughter was still the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. He had to hear more of it… "Don't be silly, you are injured, lean into me…"

Lovino's eyes flashed wildly. "You perverted…"

Antonio placed a hand on his back… "Hush, that's the pain speaking…"

"I _don't_ need your _help_!" Lovino promptly stumbled on the steps leading to the door.

Antonio gleefully hurried to steady him. "Here, let me carry you inside…"

"WHAT?!" By this stage Lovino was shaking with helpless laughter, his arms tangled with Antonio's in another half-hearted, ineffectual attempt to push him away. Lovino's eyes were bright with mirth, the clear, genuine joy in his face sending Antonio's heart into a frenzy. "Get off, you're crazy, I…"

The front door swung open. Antonio froze, Lovino almost choked, and both their voices died in their throats. Roma stood in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but for the strong, piercing disapproval in his eyes.

Well, perfect. Antonio suppressed his regret, took a careful, difficult step away from Lovino, and plastered a grin onto his face. "Evening, Roma!"

Not taking his eyes from Antonio, Roma replied with, "Go inside, Lovino."

Antonio's muscles tensed. Lovino hesitated, clenched his fists, opened his mouth as though to speak… then stepped through the door with a resigned sigh. Antonio fought his own sense of disappointment. After all, what else could Lovino do? What could Antonio do? This was Roma's house. Antonio watched as Lovino limped a few steps inside before turning to listen, his eyes wary and his hands fidgeting and his hair glinting in the light of the blazing fireplace…

Antonio reluctantly tore his eyes away, cleared his throat, and bounced on his heels. "Well, then. I guess I'll be…"

Roma interrupted harshly. "There has been an incident. An execution in the town square."

Antonio's gut clenched, his smile fell, and his mind shot into focus. _An execution. _The words flicked a switch inside him, and the last of his good humour faded away. An execution meant an interrogation. An interrogation meant a possible transfer of information. Information transfer meant… Antonio felt his nails dig into his palms. "Who?"

Roma answered vaguely, obviously attempting caution in front of Lovino. "The operation this morning did not go according to plan."

Lovino spoke one word; quick, sharp, panicked… "Feliciano…"

"Feli is all right," Roma reassured with a brief lift of his hand. "Just exhausted. He is already asleep."

Antonio thought quickly. He would have to act fast on this. If Feliciano had witnessed the incident, he could tell Antonio the number of soldiers involved; the method of killing; the reaction of the villagers… "Did Feliciano see the execution?"

Roma's shift in position answered the question. He stood taller, arms folded, shoulders tensed like the muscles were bunching under the skin. When he spoke, it was dangerously controlled. "You will not question him, Antonio."

Antonio's face hardened at the steady answer, his skin prickling unpleasantly. He subtly moved to mirror Roma's stance, and struggled to keep his frustration from seeping into his voice. "It is my job to ask these questions, Roma."

"It is _not_ your job to torment my grandson." Roma leant forward threateningly, blocking the doorway, and lowered his voice to a hostile growl. "He is distressed enough from the experience. You will not make him relive it."

For a long moment, Antonio glared at Roma, letting that intense, severe expression glare back just as sharply. Roma was a man of courage, a leader of men, but he did not understand the stakes here. He no longer had the luxury of treating his grandsons as children. That execution could have been any of them. And as Antonio stared unblinking into those hard, dark eyes, he could not suppress the small, dark voice that whispered in his head: _Lovino is no longer yours to protect. He is mine. _

But keenly aware of Lovino watching, and careful not to let real anger set in, Antonio finally gave a terse nod. "All right. There are other ways I can find out."

"I am counting on it. We'll speak tomorrow, Antonio."

Counting on it. Of course he was. Counting on Antonio to do the dirty work; counting on Antonio to accept Roma's order and do his bidding. Antonio kept his head high as he turned away. He did not do this for Roma. He did this for freedom, he did this for Italy, he did this for what was right…

_Liar. You do this for Lovino_.

Antonio did not look back as he left.

.

The thud of the closing door was like a blow to Lovino's chest, quickly fading into a heavy, engulfing loneliness that was almost comforting in its familiarity. The exchange between Grandpa Roma and Antonio had lasted mere moments, but it left Lovino empty and angry, plainly aware that more had just occurred than it seemed. He doubted, however, he would be told anything further. He never was, after all.

The lamps were low, most of the room's light coming from the roaring fire. Cold wind battered against the windows, promising wilder weather to come. Lovino felt battered himself by this draining day. He was so tired of everything feeling so difficult. So tired of being scared; so tired of having something so wonderful, so right, so perfect, only to watch it walk away.

Grandpa Roma headed for the table, where a bottle of wine sat beside a messy stack of papers. It was nearly empty. Roma poured another glass and sat heavily. "That was a long walk home."

Lovino shrugged sullenly and changed the subject. "You honestly believe Antonio would torment Feli by asking him a few questions?"

Roma took a long gulp of wine. Lovino knew by now that Roma drank on two occasions: when he was very happy, and when he was nearing despair. Right now, he looked anything but happy. "You know how upset Feli gets."

Lovino scoffed. "Come on, Grandpa. Feli gets upset when one of the houseplants die."

Roma eyed him sharply. "You are too dismissive of your brother's emotions. At least he has the courage to show them." Lovino's cheeks turned cold, his jaw dropping before he could control it. Roma raised a tired hand and lowered his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Lovino. I did not mean it like that."

Lovino hardened his eyes and his jaw. "There's no need to apologise, Grandpa, I'm quite aware you care for Feli more than me." It was a childish thing to say, but Lovino still felt brief satisfaction in spitting the words before marching towards the hall. He'd forgotten his swollen ankle, however, and promptly stumbled, only just managing to catch hold of a chair to stop himself falling. He clenched his hands and bit his cheek, furious.

It just made him angrier when Roma asked, softly, "Are you all right?"

_No. I'm not all right. I'm only all right when Antonio smiles at me and I only realised that because I just came so close to losing it… _"I'm fine. Nice of you to ask, finally."

Roma shook his head wearily and took a long sip of wine. "Lovino, your brother witnessed two men put to death today. Two men who fought, and died, for Italy."

Lovino felt a harsh stab of guilt. Then he realised Roma had not even denied his childish accusation, and he bristled once again. "Antonio also fights for Italy."

Roma's fixed stare was too perceptive. "You don't know Antonio."

Lovino narrowed his eyes, guilt turning back to anger. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"There is more to him than what you see. He's not…" Roma broke off, vaguely waving his wine glass as though searching for the right word. "…safe," he finished uncertainly.

"Safe?" Lovino snorted. "What the hell _is_ these days? You thought him _safe _enough to help me home, since you didn't think I could do it alone. You thought him safe enough to leave with me when a German patrol passed by…"

Lovino immediately regretted the words. Roma froze, eyes widening in alarm before he placed his glass on the table and leant forward anxiously. "A patrol? Why did Antonio not tell me of this?"

Lovino had to stop himself from screaming in frustration. "_I'm_ telling you!"

Roma looked horrified. Lovino suddenly remembered his pistol, and prayed Roma would not notice it missing. "Don't you see, this is what I mean - my God, Lovino, if they had found you with him..."

"Well, they didn't," Lovino shouted. "They didn't because we hid off the road, Antonio made sure that nothing happened to me, he's not _unsafe, _he would die before he let anything happen to me!"

Silence.

"Or," Lovino quickly fumbled to add, his gut twisting at the verbal slip, "or to any of us."

Roma let out a heavy breath and fixed Lovino with a piercing stare. "Do you love him?"

The question came from nowhere, and it hit Lovino like a bullet. The room swayed dangerously around him. All rage drained from his body, drained like the blood from his face, leaving him frozen white and utterly defenceless. For a moment he refused to accept what he'd heard. When he did, the urge to run fired through his nerves, but he simply could not make his legs move.

The silence lasted too long, Lovino's bones turned to ice; until, with all his strength, he forced himself to speak. "That's ridiculous." But the words sounded weak and far away.

"No." Roma looked almost guilty, and he looked unsure, but at the same time, he looked calmer than Lovino had seen him in a long time. "It's not. I may not completely understand, Lovino, but I know desire when I see it. Antonio is infatuated with you." Roma did not sound accusing, or angry. If anything, he sounded worried. "And I am not asking this to judge you. I ask because… you don't understand. Antonio is a wanted man, and if certain people find out that he cares for you…" Roma abruptly broke off, as though saying too much. He leant his elbows on the table, leaning forward and running weary hands through his hair. Then he simply repeated, "Do you love him, Lovino?"

_He knows. _Lovino's heart pounded, burning against his ribs, though his blood felt frozen. _Be brave._ His hands shook and hot sweat rose to his forehead. _Yes, _his brain screamed insistently. _Yes. He is everything. _

Lovino steeled himself and answered. "No." But he was unable to stop himself bowing his head, ashamed, distraught, furious. He could not look at Roma as he replied, somewhat doubtfully.

"All right. We will talk in the morning. There is some dinner in the kitchen for you."

"I'm not hungry."

Lovino grabbed a lantern from a side table and limped determinedly from the room. As he headed down the dark hallway, everything seemed to close in on him. The deep, intense clarity he'd felt in that ditch as the patrol passed by; the tingling happiness of having Antonio's arm around him; the bright hilarity at Antonio's ridiculous attempts at stargazing. And he had denied it all with one weak, gutless lie.

_No. _

Lovino's breath came heavy, frantic in his chest, like a storm was raging inside him and he had no way to let it out. Why was he always such a _coward?_

This was too much. Too much for one day. Everything crowded in his head, fought beneath his skin, too many emotions in too few hours, too much to feel and accept, too much to understand...

He slammed open the bedroom door, and his thoughts flew to one place. Without pausing to think, Lovino limped towards the dresser, snatched the stupid glass tomato, clutched it for the briefest second… _it's a top secret message…_ then smashed it to the ground.

A gut wrenching regret, a soft rustle, then… "Lovino, what are you doing?"

Lovino ignored his brother. He fell to his knees, put down the lantern, and picked frantically through the glass shards. A sharp pain sliced his finger but he ignored it - there, what was that? Small, silver, smooth – Lovino grabbed the ring with shaking fingers and held it up to the light. Two words were inscribed inside the band.

_Te quiero._

And then everything stopped. The silence was like cotton in Lovino's ears, and he could not hold back a bitter laugh. "Bastard." But he was not sure if he meant Roma, or Antonio, or himself.

Lovino barely noticed as Feliciano stood from the bed, his voice sleepy and concerned. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Lovino dropped his head into his hands. The storm had passed, and he had broken something beautiful, and now he would never solve Antonio's riddle. Why could he never, ever get it right? "Oh God, it's nothing, nothing."

Feliciano knelt beside him and took his arm. Lovino let his brother open his hand, let him take the ring and inspect it. "_Te quiero_," said Feliciano curiously. "What does that mean?"

A lump rose like a warning in Lovino's throat. "Nothing. Forget it." He snatched the ring from Feliciano's hand, thrust it in his pocket, and tried to speak calmly. "Just forgetyou saw it, and I'll forget I saw it, and we'll all just forget that any of this ever happened."

Feliciano's face was concerned in the lantern light. "Forget that what happened? Lovino? What happened?"

Silly, innocent Feliciano. How could he possibly understand any of this? What the hell did he know of wanting someone so badly that he could never really have? Lovino shook his head and climbed to his feet. "Nothing," he repeated.

"What's the time? Why are you home so late? Where is Antonio? Grandpa said you hurt your ankle, are you all right? Lovino, you look like you are going to fall over."

"Feliciano." Lovino limped shakily to his bed, glad to hear that Feli did not sound overly traumatised by the events of the day. Feli did upset himself so easily… "Go back to sleep."

"Will you at least let me bandage your ankle?"

Lovino fell onto the bed and hid his face in a pillow. He was exhausted, he was mortified, and he felt like sleeping forever. "Argh Feli why can't you ever shut up..."

"I'm sorry?"

Lovino growled low in his throat and spoke clearly. "I said, Antonio already did that. Now shut up."

As he heard Feliciano sweep up the shards, Lovino burned with shame, finally unable to stop these infuriating, guilty tears which rose to his eyes. Lovino did not know much Spanish, but this he understood. _Te quiero. I want you. _All he saw in the darkness was Antonio's foolish, eager, handsome face in the moonlight, his bright, green eyes and wild, dark hair… _Once you have the secret tomato words… _Why could it not be that easy? Why couldn't it just be that kind and silly and simple?

Lovino did not even bother to undress, desperate to fall into oblivion as fast as he could. Because he knew how serious this was getting. Because this was no longer his secret, and he did not even know if he wanted it to be. Because he could not continue like this much longer. Something had to give.

.

"What were they asked?" Antonio tapped his fingers nervously against his coffee cup. The pot was almost empty - it was clear this would be yet another sleepless night. "They must have been interrogated. What were they asked?"

The Turk sat leaning back in his chair, unmoving, his face cloaked in shadow from the moonlight filtering through the cantina windows. Apart from the single candle on the table between them, the rest of the room was in darkness. "What do you think, Spaniard?" he answered casually. "Names. They are of greater value than gold, these days."

Antonio reached into his pocket and placed a small pouch of jangling coins onto the table. "A currency you are prepared to trade in?" Antonio did not trust this man. Every time they met, Antonio hoped it would be the last. He knew this was dangerous. He knew this man's only loyalty was to gold, and that every day Antonio was worth more to the enemy. But he also knew he needed information, and no one knew more than the Turk.

The Turk gave the pouch a fleeting, unreadable glance. "Names? I can give you them easily. Schmidt, Schneider, Hoffman, Hesse." He recited the names in a flat, bored tone, then paused, a curious look growing on his shadowed face. "Actually, that last one is interesting. An interrogator, and former prisoner, newly arrived from the Eastern Front. It was he who gave the order for execution."

Now, _that_ was intriguing. "An army prisoner given rank within the Gestapo?"

The Turk just raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully closed. "You'd be surprised how easy this world is for very cruel men. I'd say he bought his way into favour somehow."

"How could he afford it?"

"Aren't you listening? Names are worth more than gold. Still, I don't see why _you_ would pay for them." The Turk glanced pointedly at the pouch on the table. "Your enemy has one name, and it is Germany. No, what do you _really_ want to know?"

Antonio restrained himself from answering that no, Germany was never his enemy. The Turk would not understand, and besides, that was of little importance right now. "I want to know if they answered."

The Turk nodded, his hands clasped steadily in his lap. "Now you're asking the right questions. No, Spaniard, you got damned lucky. Your little resistance friends were caught trying to execute a high ranking SS officer – they were almost dead by the time the interrogators got to them. Not much good for questioning – but perfect for a public execution on a busy market day."

"A spectacle."

"A threat."

Antonio sat back heavily and took a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. So the men did not speak. The Germans did not know about the American landings. In the end, however, this was only a small relief. The military were increasingly desperate to destroy any and all resistance. "All right. They were not answered, but – who did the interrogators ask for?"

The Turk smirked and said simply, "Well, I'll say this. If you were smart, you'd leave town."

Antonio snorted softly. He'd never been smart. "They want me."

"Of course."

Well, that much Antonio knew already. He sighed in relief, his heavy chest lightening, and raised his coffee in a sort of toast. Nothing much to be concerned about, after all.

But then the Turk shifted just slightly, and continued. "But… there is an even greater prize than you these days, Spaniard."

Antonio froze, cup halfway to his lips. The light feeling in his chest vanished, replaced with a tight coil of anxiety. "What do you mean?"

"This is a public battle, now - the execution this morning made that quite clear. What the Germans really need is someone these civilians look up to – someone whose death will scare them into compliance. Someone, maybe, who holds this little town's surprisingly successful Resistenza together."

Antonio realised he was still holding his coffee cup in the air, and lowered it shakily. "They want the leader," he breathed, the coil of anxiety turned to cold, sick dread.

The Turk pointed his finger in an affirmative gesture. "You got it. The most valuable name of all. And once they have it, they will bleed him for what he knows, and they will show this town his destruction."

Antonio nearly swore as he ran a hand over his tired eyes. He should have realised it would come to this. He thought of Roma Vargas, hero of the Isonzo; stubborn and proud; for all his faults, the strongest man Antonio had ever known. "They'd be wasting their time. He will never talk."

The Turk just stared for a few moments, the candlelight flickering in his dark eyes, before resting his arms on the table and letting out a heavy breath. When he spoke, it was quieter than usual, and Antonio found himself leaning forward to listen. "Have you ever been north, Spaniard? I mean, really north, where the winters last all year, and the nights last for months."

Antonio was a little thrown, both by the odd change in the Turk's voice and the sudden change of topic. Swift, fleeting images ran wild through his memory, of days sledding through fairytale forests; nights dancing beneath ceilings made of ice; evenings lying in the snow, Gilbert and Francis beside him, watching the sky turn a thousand shades of pink and green and orange... He quickly suppressed them. "Not for many years."

"I was there recently. A little village on the Norwegian coast, close to Trondheim. Their resistance fell last summer." The Turk's lip curled in the tiniest hint of a smirk. "They, also, had a leader who would 'never talk.'"

Antonio did not answer. He slowly sat back, staring at the candle's reflection in the dark window, afraid he knew where this was heading.

"The Gestapo tried, of course. Broke every bone trying, but damn, this Norwegian kid was tough. It seemed there was nothing they could do to make him talk. So, they changed tactics. Torturing _him_ wasn't gonna make him talk. Torturing someone _else_, however…" The Turk let the words fade into silent explanation.

Antonio swallowed heavily. "Someone else…"

"Someone he cared about. Someone he loved. A Danish pilot, or something like that..." The Turk shrugged. "Spilled his guts in a matter of moments. That's the thing, you see. There's always someone else. Now, you say Roma will never talk. But he has grandsons, doesn't he?"

Suddenly, the room turned red. The breath rushed from Antonio's lungs, the candlelight roared like a fire, the floor fell out from under him… "No…" He gasped the word, his blood turning to rage, his hands gripping the table edge until he felt the wood splinter in his skin… How could he not have realised? How could he be so _stupid?_ If the Gestapo reached Roma, they would reach Lovino. And if they reached Lovino… "No. They will not get to Roma. It is me they want, it's _always_ been me they want, it HAS to be me they want!"

The Turk's eyes narrowed perceptively, and Antonio fought to control his reaction, aware too late that he was shouting. He drew a few breaths through burning lungs and forced his hands to relax. "I am more expendable than Roma," he attempted to explain, though his head was spinning, his blood was racing, his throat was pounding... "I must remain their highest target, I am strong enough, I…"

Antonio slowly trailed off. The realisation broke suddenly, a flash of certain clarity, and he knew immediately what he had to do. He looked up slowly, jaw clenched in determination, barely noticing the Turk's piercing expression. "Hesse, wasn't it? He is the one in charge of arrests?"

The Turk's eyes glinted warningly in the candlelight. "Whatever you are considering, I'd do so carefully. This man is dangerous." He eyed the pouch of gold, still sitting untouched on the table. "And you are far more valuable to me alive."

Antonio ignored him. His heart was beating fire, and all he could see was Lovino scowling, Lovino laughing, Lovino screaming at the hands of the Gestapo… "Where can I find this Hesse tomorrow evening?"

Something in Antonio's tone made the Turk drop his smirk and answer clearly. "Probably at the _Cantina Rossa_, drinking with the military officers."

"Can you ensure it?"

The Turk regarded him closely for a moment. He looked mildly curious, but did not enquire further. "All right, Spaniard." He reached for the gold on the table, and placed it in his jacket pocket. "He'll be there." He pushed back his chair, but Antonio raised a hand to stop him.

"One more thing. You said Hesse was in a prison unit before his transfer to the Gestapo. Why was he arrested?"

The Turk gave a short, humourless laugh. "The war to the east is brutal. Rifles are not the only weapons used. Rape and torture are two of the more common ones. Our friend Sergeant Hesse was rather fond of both - got caught with his hands bloody and his pants down one too many times."

Antonio's gut churned in disgust. Now he had no doubts about what he had to do.

The Turk stood and headed for the front door. After a few oddly hesitant steps he stopped, but did not turn. When he spoke, it was strangely quiet, softer than Antonio had ever heard it. "I tried to protect someone once. A lifetime ago."

Antonio blinked in surprise. He stared up at the Turk, straight and still amidst a room of empty, shadowed tables, his wide, tall frame strangely small in the filtered moonlight. Antonio knew nothing of this man's past, or of what he spoke. He simply raised his chin warily at these cryptic words. "What makes you think I am protecting someone?"

The Turk turned his head slightly, a tiny, knowing smile on his lips. "There's always someone else."

Before Antonio could think to panic, the Turk strode to the exit. His final words were almost too soft to hear. "Strong towers, Spaniard."

.

The next morning, it felt like winter had finally arrived. Feliciano had again been eager to head out early, despite the chill, but it was hours later that Lovino finally dragged himself from the warmth of his bed. His ankle was slightly swollen and a little bruised, but this type of pain was easy to handle. It was the memory of the night before that really hurt. Lovino tried not to think of it, instead focusing on buttoning his shirt, hooking his braces into his belt, bending down to pull on his socks… he stopped short at the flash of colour in the corner of his eye. There, under Feliciano's bed… Lovino moved closer, slowly reaching down to retrieve the bright orange wrapper and inspect it curiously. It read one word: _Schokolade._

Lovino felt his brow furrow in confusion. A German chocolate wrapper. Feliciano had given him some chocolate on Monday, the day after Antonio arrived, but Lovino had barely thought of it at the time. Now he had to wonder - where had Feliciano possibly acquired German chocolate? Faintly unsettled, Lovino put the wrapper in his pocket, only to immediately forget it when his fingers brushed something else. A surge of warmth filled him as he closed his hand over the ring. _Te quiero._ Without another thought to the chocolate wrapper, Lovino slipped the ring onto his finger and headed out into the freezing morning, with what looked like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Lovino rushed through the front room of the_ Cantina Verde_, as fast as his ankle allowed, past empty chairs and silent waiters. The meeting would already be taking place in the secret back room. Despite everything, there was still a war, and Lovino was still a resistance member, and he was still late, and…

Lovino came to an abrupt halt.

Antonio sat against the wall by the door, his knees drawn up, his hands clasped between them. He wore the same rumpled shirt and trousers from the previous day; his hair hung unwashed, his face unshaven. He raised his head slowly, looking up at Lovino with eyes red from lack of sleep. Lovino stared back, unsure what to do or say, his breath unsteady and his heart clenching in his chest.

"The Germans are more aware than ever of the influence of our resistance." Grandpa Roma's words echoed through the door. Once, he would have roared them, like a stirring battle speech to a charging army. Now, he spoke them flatly, like he had been doing this too long, and was no longer certain of what he was saying.

"Yesterday, they tried to threaten us. But it will not work, and we will not stop. We will continue to prepare for the American landings. We will continue to undermine enemy operations. We _will_ continue, until this country is our own again."

The words were like a lightning strike through Lovino's head, while Antonio's eyes held his in that unbreakable green hold. No, they would not stop. It seemed they would never stop. Year after year after year… It was this war keeping him from Antonio. It was this bloody interminable, broken battle that drove the light from Antonio's eyes and the smile from his lips. This fear, this hate, this constant, ugly terror of it. Antonio was the most wanted man in Europe, who fought for Italy, and would probably not survive this war.

Roma's voice sounded again, clear and strong through the closed door. "The events of yesterday morning are a reminder that nothing we do is without risk. No mission is simple. I do not need to tell you of the increasing danger. I just need you to remember. Remember why we are doing this."

And Antonio was also the most foolish, stupid, wonderful man in the entire world, who fought for what was right, and believed in touching the stars. But right now, none of that even mattered, because Antonio was hurting, and Lovino did not know how to stop it. Antonio attempted a smile, small and sad and forced. "I'm tired, Lovino."

And then it was simple.

"Come with me." Lovino held out his hand. Antonio took it immediately.

.

Sitting against the back garden wall, lavender drifting on the air and rosemary blooming before them, Lovino was not even sure how they had ended back here. It just seemed like the only place to go. It always seemed to end here, where the herbs and flowers grew in lines, and only oak leaves and drifting winds entered from the outside world. This little corner of the world, where there was only calm, and stillness, and peace, and everything else felt a thousand miles away.

Antonio rested his head back against the wall and let out a contented sigh. "Yes. This is better. Thank you, Lovino."

Lovino shrugged, a bit embarrassed by Antonio's thanks. It wasn't like he'd done anything, after all. All he knew was that he wanted Antonio to feel better. He wanted to stop everything that exhausted him; destroy everything that hurt him. Lovino wanted Antonio to say those stupid things he always did, and laugh in that way that brightened the darkness, and stay with him forever.

Antonio batted absently at a wildflower growing from beneath the stone wall. Lovino watched those bronzed fingers stroke gently over the flower petals, watched as the weary lines of his face smoothed and a tranquil smile settled on his lips. "I've never had a garden," he mused, oblivious. "I think I'd like one, one day. I would grow tomatoes."

Lovino would never stop marvelling at Antonio's extraordinary ability to remain cheerful despite every impetus to the contrary. Moments ago in the cantina he had looked on the edge of despair. Now he just sat calmly, the cold wind tousling his dark curls, the muted afternoon sunlight brightening his skin. Warmth surged through Lovino's blood despite the freezing air, and he had to remind himself to respond sarcastically. "Are tomatoes all you ever think about?"

"No. I think about lots of things." Antonio hummed thoughtfully and tapped his feet together. "Trains. Renoir. Stars. Schnapps. H.G. Wells... I hope he's well."

Lovino did not know where to start. "Stars, again?"

"Venus, especially." Antonio met Lovino's gaze and grinned. "I like Venus."

Lovino's neck tingled. "That's a..."

"Planet. Yes, of course." Antonio bit back a chuckle and raised a mirthful eyebrow. "And you? Are tomatoes all _you_ ever think about?"

Lovino really had to wonder how Antonio's mind worked sometimes. "Why the hell would I think about tomatoes?"

Antonio leant sideways, his shoulder brushing Lovino's, and whispered, "Because they're _delicious!"_ The touch shot right down Lovino's body until his legs felt weak, but he rolled his eyes, and almost laughed. Then Antonio continued easily, "And because you're wearing your ring."

Oh, _shit. _Lovino abruptly choked silent and stuck his hand in his jacket. His heart skipped dangerously in his chest and he felt his face burn bright red. How the _hell_ had he forgotten he had the ring on his finger? And he'd been wearing it all this time! How was he supposed to explain this?! He fumbled desperately for an excuse. He had to think of what to say. He had to… "_Te quiero…"_ … really not blurt out the first words that came to mind. He stubbornly ignored Antonio's jovial reaction and stammered, "Your… your stupid tomato code, it doesn't even make sense, it…"

Antonio could never suppress his laughter for long. "It means…"

"I know what it _means_, _idiota, _what _I_ mean is that you can't give me a bloody tomato made of glass and tell me there's a code and a riddle because it's ridiculous, isn't it, it's just…" Lovino's mind raced to catch up with his mouth. "… it's stupid," he finished lamely. He briefly covered his burning face with his hands and wished fervently, not for the first time, for a giant black hole to open up beneath him.

Antonio sounded quite pleased with himself, the bastard. "I rather liked it."

Lovino lifted his hands to his head and attempted a disdainful glare. "_Te quiero?"_ he repeated, as scornfully as he could manage.

Antonio's eyes lit up_. "Yo también te quiero!"_ he replied gleefully, grinning like a madman.

Lovino shook his head and dropped his hands to his lap. Despite his embarrassment, he still had to make an effort not to smile. How did Antonio always make that so difficult? "Oh, don't try to be clever."

Antonio gasped dramatically. "Never, Lovino! _You_ are the clever one. After all, you cracked the tomato code!"

"I smashed it." Lovino lifted his chin, attempting to say it triumphantly. But he immediately felt childish and guilty, and it only sounded petty.

Antonio, however, simply laughed. "Of course you did."

Lovino paused, unsure he'd heard that correctly. He stared for a confused moment before asking flatly, "What?"

Antonio hummed and shrugged, his green eyes sparkling. "_Actually_, I'm surprised you did not break it the second I gave it to you."

Lovino narrowed his eyes, annoyed and suspicious. "Okay, _what?"_

Antonio still seemed nothing but amused by the entire situation. He very gently nudged Lovino's shoulder. "Oh, Lovino. How could you _not_ break it? After all, you hate secrets so much. And my goodness, for someone with such willpower, you can be _so_ impatient."

There was too much there to try and decipher. Lovino didn't know if he was flattered or furious. He knew two things for sure, however. One - that stupid smile sent his heart stumbling and his head spinning. Two - "You're a bastard."

Antonio giggled defiantly. "The tomato was never important, Lovino. I only wanted you to know…" Antonio leant forward intently, the smile fading from his lips and growing in his eyes.

Lovino had seen that look before. He raised a warning hand, his heart leaping to hammer in his throat. "You're going to be dramatic now, aren't you?"

Antonio paused, his eyes darting guiltily. "No. Possibly. Well okay, yes, but only briefly."

"Oh, for God's…" Lovino sucked in a sharp breath and turned rigid when Antonio placed a hand lightly on his chest. He _really_ hoped Antonio could not feel his heartbeat…

Then Antonio reached for Lovino's hand and lowered it between them. "Sometimes, Lovino, things get broken. But what is inside…" Lovino's breath caught in his lungs as Antonio's green eyes blazed into his own, as his warm touch shivered across Lovino's skin, brushing so gently over his fingers, tracing ever-so-softly over the silver ring, "…is what matters. Because that is what will last forever… and it will never break."

Oh, it was _completely _dramatic; yet Lovino could not tear his gaze away, and his blood raced hot in his veins, and he could not control the rapid rising of his chest, and he knew Antonio was saying more than it seemed, but all Lovino could manage to say was, "I'm sorry I smashed your tomato."

For a long moment, neither moved. Antonio's eyebrow twitched. Then suddenly, without warning, he burst into laughter. Lovino's entire body lightened, like a massive surge of relief, and he shook his head as Antonio dissolved into giggles. God, he was _ridiculous_… but that silliness was like air when Lovino was drowning, and his laughter was like light chasing away the darkness. As he laughed, Antonio's too-often careworn face was bright and untroubled, and for the first time, Lovino wondered - maybe it was not just Antonio who filled the emptiness inside Lovino. Maybe, just sometimes, Lovino did the same for him.

And so Lovino let himself smile, hand still touching Antonio's, let the cold breeze cool his heated cheeks as the last traces of laughter drifted away on the wind. The silence fell naturally, the air between them warm and content and completely right. This was the only time Lovino ever felt so right - when it was just him, and Antonio, together, talking of such silly things. Finally Antonio let out a long breath and leant back against the wall. "Oh, but I am tired, Lovino."

"Then go to sleep."

And how strange, that it really was that simple. So simple to let his guard down, to say such things, to let Antonio slowly sink sideways until his head rested on Lovino's thighs. Lovino's veins thrummed, awkward and unsure at what was probably the greatest contentment in his life. Yesterday he'd thought he would die in this man's arms. Today, he wanted nothing more than to live in them.

A ray of sunlight glinted in Antonio's hair, turning the dark brown to red. Lovino stared for a few moments, familiar hesitation staying his hand, until it was again so simple to just reach out and touch the copper curls. The curly locks threaded so easily between his fingers - not nearly so dirty as he thought, just soft and warm.

The afternoon sky was already growing dark with threatening clouds, but with Antonio resting against him, Lovino never wanted to move. And as the heavy stillness of the day settled around them, Lovino barely noticed when he started humming; barely noticed when, as always, the indistinct humming turned to words. The song that always came to mind when he felt this way, like his heart filled his body and his body was tied to this man beside him.

"_Bésame mucho,  
><em>_Hold me my darling and say that you'll always be mine._

"_This joy is something new, my arms enfolding you,  
><em>_Never knew this thrill before.  
><em>_Who ever thought I'd be holding you close to me,  
><em>_Whispering it's you I adore._

"_Dearest one, if you should leave me…"_

Lovino broke off at those last words, slamming a hand to his mouth, unable to stop a sudden, strangled gasp.

Antonio opened his eyes and startled slightly, concerned, but Lovino just shook his head silently. He could not explain. These last few days, Lovino's fear of losing Antonio had never been so real. The days grew darker; the hours more dangerous. And yet, he'd never allowed himself closer to this daft, good, frustrating, wonderful man who he simply could not help loving despite how hard he tried.

When Antonio finally spoke, it was soft, and wistful, and somehow understanding. "I would like it if you sang more often, Lovino."

Lovino blinked his eyes hurriedly. God, how stupid of him… "I'll only sing for you." How _utterly_ stupid of him…

"Oh." Antonio sighed happily. "I think I like that even better."

Uncomfortable with this clawing emotion in his throat, Lovino attempted awkwardly to change the subject. "What will you do? When the war is over?"

Even as he blinked sleepily, Antonio looked a little overwhelmed. Lovino wondered how much thought Antonio had ever given to the end of the war – maybe he never really expected it to end. "When the war is over…"

"Will you stay?" Lovino winced as he asked it, then held his breath waiting for an answer.

"Would you like me to?" Antonio's voice was soft, drowsy, yet his shoulders tensed as though in expectation.

Lovino rested his hand hesitantly in Antonio's soft curls, and allowed himself to imagine – just for a moment – Antonio walking through the front door, rested and happy; strolling along the road with no fear of German patrols; sitting here in the garden as the wildflowers bloomed, no sunset when Antonio would have to leave… _Forever._

Before he could think and stop himself, Lovino spoke the closest thing to a confession he'd ever come. "Yes. I'd like you to stay."

Antonio's lips curled in a smile, his chest rising and falling in a long, contented breath. "Very well. Then I'll stay. And what will you do?"

"Me?"

"After the war."

Lovino had no way to answer that. He hadn't thought of it often, and when he did, he could never think of an answer that satisfied him. "I don't know. Work in the field with Grandpa, I suppose. The barley will always need harvesting…"

"You are too clever to be a farmer, Lovino." Before Lovino could answer angrily, Antonio gave a soft breath of laughter. "You think too much. You feel too much. You need some way to let that out."

All anger vanished, and Lovino's cheeks burned with something other than rage. "Stop speaking like you know me."

Antonio seemed amused by that, even as his brilliant green eyes again drifted closed. "But I do know you. There are so many things in this world that everyone understands but me. You are the only one, Lovino, that I understand, when no one else does."

By now, Antonio almost seemed to be talking in his sleep. Lovino's heart swelled in his chest; rose as a lump in his throat. He ran a hand through Antonio's thick, messy hair, and with a heartbreaking shiver of realisation, he knew that this was the best moment of his life. "Okay," he sighed, unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry or just scream with frustration. "Shut up. Go to sleep."

.

Lovino must have dozed off also, this perfect afternoon floating by, because the next thing he heard was the back kitchen door opening. He startled slightly, then looked up to see Grandpa Roma stepping into the garden. Lovino stared back at him, a cold shudder running down his spine. But what did he have to be ashamed of? He steeled himself, and did not take his hand from Antonio's hair. "He is sleeping."

Roma looked down, straight and tall, no hint of emotion but the slight twitch of his eyebrow. "A spy should wake easier than that."

Lovino fought the instinct to explain himself, to deny everything, to run. He did not move. "I suppose he feels safe here." For a long moment, their eyes remained locked. Lovino refused to look away. Finally he said, "He is exhausted, Grandpa. You know how hard he works. For us… for Italy."

"For you." Roma breathed out and lowered his eyes, resignation in his face and his stance. "It was always for you." He turned to leave, his drooping shoulders the only sign of his fatigue. "It is cold out here. When he wakes, come inside. I will start the fire."

Lovino watched Roma go, his throat pounding uncertainly. Grandpa Roma hadn't yelled, hadn't thrown Antonio out. Lovino did not know what to think. A glance at the darkening sky told him it was growing late. And inexplicably, even with Roma walking away and Antonio resting warm on his lap, Lovino's thoughts drew to one place: the German chocolate wrapper still in his pocket. A strange sense of dread settled over this cold, peaceful afternoon. Where was Feliciano?

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


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